University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


Gift  of 


MYRTLE  WOLF 


/x 


\ 


KING  ARTHUR 


BY 


SIR  EDWARD  BULWER  LYTTON,  Bart. 


AUTHOR     OF     THE     NEW     T 1  M  0  N. 


"  When  Arthur  was  a  King — 
Hearken,  now  a  marvellous  thing.'^ 

"  La>aniou'a  lirut,"  by  bir  F.  Maiden,  Vol.  i.  p-  113. 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES,. 


VOL  I, 


PHILADELPHIA: 

HOGAN    &    THOMPSON. 

1851. 


r  11 E  F  A  C  E. 


I  CANNOT  better  Lcgin  the  few  remarks  that  it  seems  to  me  fitting 
to  prefix  to  this  poem,  than  by  acknowledgments  sincere  and  earnest 
to  those  whose  approbation  of  the  earlier  portions  honoured  my  ex- 
periment and  encouraged  its  progress  ; — I  venture  to  hope  that  the 
work  as  now  completed,  will  not  forfeit  the  indulgence  that  they  be- 
stowed on  the  commencement ;  indeed,  it  is  almost  the  necessary 
condition  of  any  fiction,  planned  with  some  forethought,  and  sus- 
tained through  some  length,  that  the  passages  most  calculated  to 
please  the  reader,  should  open  upon  him  in  proportion  as  he  habi- 
tuates himself  to  the  style,  and  becomes  familiarized  with  the  design, 
of  the  author — while  it  is  obvious  that  such  merit  as  the  work  may 
possibly  be  entitled  to  claim  on  the  score  of  art,  or  consistency,  can 
be  but  imperfectl}'^  conjectured  by  specimens  of  its  parts. 

Whatever  the  defects  of  this  Poem,  it  has  not  been  hastily  con- 
ceived or  lightly  undertaken.  From  my  earliest  youth,  the  sul)jcct  I 
have  selected  has  haunted  my  ambition — for  twenty  years  it  has 
rested  steadily  on  my  mind,  in  sp^te  of  other  undertakings,  for  the 
most  part  not  wholly  ungenial, — since  a  lengthened  and  somewhat 
various  practice  in  the  conception  and  conduct  of  imaginative  story, 
ought  to  be  no  disadvantageous  preparation  for  a  poem  which  seeks 
to  construct  from  the  elements  of  national  romance,  something  ap- 
proaching to  the  completeness  of  epic  narrative.  If  my  powers  be 
unequal  to  the  task  I  have  assumed,  at  least  I  have  waited  in  patience, 
until  they  wore  matured  and  disciplined  to  such  strength  as  they 
might  be  enabled  to  attain ;  until  taste,  if  erroneous,  could  be  cor- 
rected, invention  if  sterile,  be  enriched,  by  some  prolonged  appren- 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

ticeship  to  the  principles  of  art,  by  the  contemplation  of  its  master- 
pieces in  many  languages,  and  by  such  familiarity  with  the  resources 
of  my  native  tongue  as  study  and  practice  could  permit  me  to  obtain- 
But  every  one  knovrs  the  proverb,  that  "The  poet  is  born,  the  orator 
made  ; — and  though,  perhaps,  it  is  only  partially  true  that  the  "  Poet 
is  born,"  and  a  slight  examination  of  the  higher  order  of  poets  will 
suffice  to  show  us  that  they  themselves  depended  very  little  on  the 
innate  faculty,  and  were  not  less  diligent  in  self-cultivation  than  the 
most  laborious  orator, — yet  it  would  be  in  vain  to  deny,  that  where 
the  faculty  itself  is  wanting,  no  labour  can  supply  the  defect :  and 
if  certain  Critics  are  right  in  asserting,  that  that  defect  is  my  misfor- 
tune, I  must  content  myself  with  the  sombre  reflection  that  I  have 
done  my  best  to  counteract  the  original  unkindness  of  nature,  I 
have  given  to  this  work  a  preparation  that,  evincing  my  own  respect 
to  the  public,  entitles  me  in  return  to  the  respect  of  a  just  hearing 
and  a  fair  examination :  if  the  work  be  worthless,  it  is  at  least  the 
worthiest  it  is  in  my  power  to  perform, — and  on  this  foundation, 
however  hollow,  I  know  that  I  rest  the  least  perishable  monument 
of  those  thoughts  and  those  labours  which  have  made  the  life  of  my 
life. 

In  aiming  at  a  complete  and  symmetrical  design,  I  find  myself 
involuntarily  compelled  to  refer  to  the  distinctions  of  Epic  Fable, 
although  by  no  means  presuming  to  give  to  my  poem  a  title  which 
an  author  may  arrogate,  but  which  a  long  succession  of  readers  has 
alone  the  prerogative  to  confirm, — and  although  few  in  this  age  will 
pretend  that  an  Epic  can  be  made  merely  by  adherence  to  formal 
laws,  or  that  it  may  not  exist  in^spite  of  nearly  all  which  learning 
has  added  to  the  canons  of  common  sense,  and  the  quick  perceptions 
of  a  cultivated  taste.  Pope  has,  however,  properly  defined  the  three 
cardinal  distinctions  of  Epic  Fable  to  consist  in  the  Probable,  the 
Allegorical,  and  the  Marvellous.  For  Avithout  the  Probable,  there 
could  be  no  vital  interest ;  without  the  Marvellous,  its  larger  field 
would  be  excluded  from  the  imagination ;  and  without  the  Allego- 
rical the  Poet  would  lose  the  most  pleasing  medium  of  conveying 
instruction.  It  is  chiefly  by  the  Allegorical  that  the  imaginative 
writer  is    didactic,    and  that   he   achieves    his    end   of  insinuatinjr 


PREFACE.  IX 

truth  through  the  disgiiisc  of  fancy.  I  accept  these  divisions  be- 
cause they  conform  to  the  simplest  principles  of  rational  criticism  ; 
and  though  their  combination  does  not  form  an  Epic,  it  serves  at 
least  to  amplify  the  region  and  elevate  the  oljccts  of  Romance.. 

It  has  been  my  aim  so  to  blend  these  divisions,  that  each  may 
harmonize  with  the  other,  and  all  conduce  to  the  end  proposed  from 
the  commencement  For  this  is  that  unity  of  structure  which  every 
artistic  narrative  requires,  and  it  forms  one  of  the  main  considera- 
tions which  influence  any  reader  of  sound  judgment  in  estimating 
the  merit  that  belongs  to  a  whole. — I  have  admitted  but  little  episo- 
dical incident,  and  none  that  does  not  grow  out  of  what  Pope  terms 
'  the  platform  of  the  story.'  For  the  marvellous  agencies  I  have  not 
presumed  to  make  direct  use  of  that  Divine  Machinery  which  the 
war  of  the  Christian  Principle  with  the  forms  of  Heathenism  might 
have  suggested  to  the  sublime  daring  of  Milton,  had  he  prosecuted 
his  original  idea  of  founding  a  heroic  poem  upon  the  legendary 
existence  of  Arthur; — and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Teuton  jMythology, 
however  interesting  and  profound,  is  too  unfamiliar  and  obscure,  to 
permit  its  employment  as  an  open  and  visible  agency  ; — such  re- 
ference to  it  as  could  not  be  avoided,  is  therefore  rather  indulged  as 
an  appropriate  colouring  to  the  composition,  than  an  integral  part 
of  the  materials  of  the  canvas :  And,  not  to  ask  from  the  ordinary 
reader  an  erudition  I  should  have  no  right  to  expect,  the  reference 
so  made  is  in  the  simplest  form,  and  disentangled  from  the  necessity 
of  other  information  than  a  few  brief  notes  will  suffice  to  afford. 

In  taking  my  subject  from  chivalrous  romance,  I  take,  then,  the 
agencies  from  the  Marvellous  that  it  naturally  and  familiarly  affords 
— the  Fairy,  the  Genius,  the  Enchanter :  not  wholly,  indeed,  in  the 
precise  and  literal  spirit  with  which  our  nursery  tales  receive  those 
creations  of  Fancy  through  the  medium  of  French  Fabliaux,  but  in 
the  larger  significations  by  which  in  their  conceptions  of  the  Super- 
natural, our  fathers  often  implied  the  secrets  of  Nature.  For  the 
Romance  from  wliich  I  borrow  is  the  Romance  of  the  North — a  Ro- 
mance, like  the  Northern  mythology,  full  of  typical  meaning  and 
latent  import.  The  gigantic  remains  of  symbol  worship  are  visible 
amidst  the  rude  fables  of  the  Scamlinavians,  and  what  little  is  left 


X  PREFACE. 

to  us  of  the  earlier  and  more  indigenous  literature  of  the  Cymrians, 
is  by  a  mysticism  profound  with  characterized  parable.  This  fond- 
ness for  an  interior  or  double  meaning  is  the  most  prominent  attri- 
bute in  that  Romance  popularly  called  The  Gothic,  the  feature  most 
in  common  with  all  creations  that  bear  the  stamp  of  the  Northern 
fancy  ;  we  trace  it  in  the  poems  of  the  Anglo-Saxons  ;  it  returns  to 
us,  in  our  earliest  poems  after  the  Conquest ;  it  does  not  originate 
in  the  Oriental  genius" (immemorially  addicted  to  Allegory,)  but  it 
instinctively  appropriates  all  that  Saracenic  invention  can  suggest 
to  the  more  sombre  imagination  of  the  North — it  unites  to  the  Ser- 
pent of  the  Edda,  the  flying  Griffin  of  Arabia,  the  Persian  Genius 
to  the  Scandinavian  Trold, — and  wherever  it  accepts  a  marvel,  it 
seeks  to  insinuate  a  type.  This  peculiarity  which  demarks  the 
spiritual  essence  of  the  modern  from  the  sensual  character  of  an- 
cient poetry,  especially  the  Roman,  is  visible  wherever  a  tribe  allied 
to  the  Goth,  the  Frank,  or  the  Teuton,  carries  with  it  the  deep  mys- 
teries of  the  Christian  faith.  Even  in  the  sunny  Provence  it  trans- 
fuses a  subtler  and  graver  moral  into  the  lays  of  the  joyous  trouba- 
dour,*— and  weaves  "  The  Dance  of  Death"  by  the  joyous  streams, 
and  through  the  glowing  orange  groves  of  Spain.  Onwards,  this 
under  current  of  meaning  flowed,  through  the  various  phases  of 
civilization : — it  pervaded  alike  the  popular  Satire  and  the  dramatic 
Mystery ; — it  remained  unimpaired  to  the  glorious  age  of  Elizabeth, 
amidst  all  the  stirring  passions  that  then  agitated  mankind,  to  de- 
mand and  to  find  their  delineator  ; — it  not  only  coloured  the  dreams 
of  Spenser,  but  it  placed  abstruse  and  recondite  truth  in  the  clear 
yet  unfathomable  wells  of  Shakspeare.  Thus,  in  taking  from 
Northern  Romance  the  Marvellous,  we  are  most  faithful  to  the 
genuine  character  of  that  Romance  when  we  take  with  the  Marvel- 
lous its  old  companion,  the  Typical  or  Allegorical.  But  these  form 
only  two  divisions  of  the  three  which  I  have  assumed  as  the  compo- 

*  "  Kien  n'cst  pluscommun  dans  la  poesieproven^ale  que  I'ailegoric;  seule- 

ment  elle   est  un  jou  d'esprit  an   lieu  d'f^tre  une  action Line 

autre  analogic  nie  r  arait,  plus  spontantje  qu'iiniu'e — la  pousie  des  troubadours 
qu'on  suppose  frivole,  a  souvcnt  retracee  dcs  sejitiments  graves  et  touchanls," 
&c, —  ViLLKMAiN,  Tabltau  du  Mnycn  Ai^t. 


PREFACE.  XI 

ncnts  of  the  unity  I  seek  to  accompUsh;  there  remains  the  Probable, 
which  contains  the  Actual.  To  subject  the  whole  poem  to  allegori- 
cal constructions  would  be  erroneous,  and  opposed  to  the  vital  prin- 
ciple of  a  work  of  this  kind  which  needs  the  support  of  direct  and 
human  interest.  The  inner  and  the  outer  meaning  of  Fable  should  flow 
together,  each  acting  on  the  other,  as  the  thought  and  the  action  in 
the  life  of  a  man.  It  is  true  that  in  order  clearly  to  interpret  the 
action,  we  should  penetrate  to  the  thought.  But  if  we  fail  of  that 
perception,  the  action,  though  less  comprehended,  still  impresses  its 
reality  on  our  senses,  and  makes  its  appeal  to  our  interest. 

I  have  thus  sought  to  maintain  the  Probable  through  that  chain 
of  incident  in  which  human  agencies  are  employed,  and  through 
those  agencies  the  direct  action  of  the  Poem  is  accomplished;  while 
the  Allegorical  admits  into  the  Marvellous  the  introduction  of  that 
subtler  form  of  truth,  which  if  less  positive  than  the  Actual,  is 
wider  in  its  application,  and  ought  to  be  more  profound  in  its  signifi- 
cance. 

For  the  rest,  it  may  perhaps  be  conceded  that  this  poem  is  not 
without  originality  in  the  conception  of  its  plot  and  the  general 
treatment  of  its  details.  Though  I  have  often  sought  to  enrich  its 
materijils  with  ornaments  of  expression,  borrowed  or  imitated,  whe- 
ther from  our  own  earliest  poetry,  or  that  of  other  countries,  yet  I 
am  not  aware  of  any  previous  romantic  poem  which  it  resembles  in 
its  main  design,  or  in  the  character  of  its  principal  incidents ; — and 
though  I  may  have  incurred  certain  mannerisms  of  my  own  day,  (in 
spite  of  my  endeavour  rather  to  err  on  the  opposite  side,  by  often 
purposely  retaining  those  forms  of  diction  and  phraseology  which 
recent  criticism  regards  as  common-place,  and  by  generally  adhering 
to  those  laws  of  rhythm  and  rhyme  which  recent  poetry  has  been 
inclined  to  regard  as  servile  and  restricted) ; — yet  I  venture  to  trust, 
that,  in  the  pervading  form  or  style,  the  mind  employed  has  been 
sufficiently  in  earnest  to  leave  its  own  peculiar  effigy  and  stamp 
upon  the  work.  For  the  incidents  narrated,  I  may,  indeed,  thank 
the  nature  of  my  subject,  if  many  of  them  could  scarcely  fail  to  be 
new.  The  celebrated  poets  of  chivalrous  fable — Ariosto,  Tasso,  and 
Spenser,  have  given  to  their  scenery  the  colourings  of  the  West. 


Xll  PREFACE. 

The  Great  North  from  which  Chivah-y  sprung — its  polar  seas,  its 
natural  wonders,  its  wild  legends,  its  antediluvian  remains, — a  wide 
field  for  poetic  description  and  heroic  narrative — have  been,  indeed, 
not  wholly  unexplored  by  poetry,  but  so  little  appropriated,  that 
even  after  Tegner  and  Oehlenschlager,  I  dare  to  hope  that  I  have 
found  tracks  in  which  no  poet  has  preceded  me,  and  over  which  yet 
breathes  the  native  air  of  our  National  Romance. 

For  the  Manners  preserved  through  this  poem,  I  have  elsewhere 
implied  that  I  take  those  of  that  age,  not  in  which  the  Arthur  of 
History,  of  whom  we  know  so  little,  but  in  which  the  Arthur  of 
Romance,  whom  we  know  so  well,  revived  into  fairer  life  at  the 
breath  of  Minstrel  and  Fabliast.  The  anachronism  of  chivalrous 
manners  and  costume  for  himself  and  his  knighthood,  is  absolutely 
required  by  all  our  familiar  associations.  On  the  other  hand,  with- 
out affecting  any  strict  or  antiquarian  accuracy  in  details,  I  have 
kept  the  country  of  the  brave  Chief  of  the  Silures  (or  South  Wales) 
somewhat  more  definitely  in  view,  than  has  been  done  by  the  French 
fabliasts ;  while  in  portraying  his  Saxon  foes,  I  have  endeavoured 
to  distinguish  their  separate  nationality,  without  enforcing  too  violent 
a  contrast  between  the  rudeness  of  the  heathen  Teutons  and  the  po- 
lished Christianity  of  the  Cymrian  Knighthood,* 

*  In  the  more  historical  view  of  the  position  of  Arthur,  I  have,  however, 
represented  it  such  as  it  really  appears  to  have  been, — not  as  the  Sovereign  at 
all  Britain,  and  the  conqurring  invadei'  of  Europe  (according  to  the  ground- 
less fable  of  Geotfrey  of  Monmouth),  but  as  the  patriot  Prince  of  South 
VVaies,  resisting  successfully  the  invasion  of  his  own  native  soil,  and  accom- 
plishing the  object  of  his  career  in  preserving  entire  the  nationality  of  his 
Welch  country  men.  In  ihus  contracting  his  sphere  of  action  to  the  bounds 
of  rational  truth,  his  dignity,  both  moral  and  poetic,  is  obviously  enhanced. 
Hepresented  as  the  champion  of  all  Britain  against  the  Saxons,  his  life  would 
have  been  a  notorious  and  signal  failure;  but  as  the  preserver  of  the  Cym- 
rian INationality — of  that  part  of  the  British  population  which  took  refuge  iu 
Wales,  he  has  a  claim  to  the  epic  glory  of  success. 

It  is  for  this  latter  reason  that  I  have  gone  somewhat  out  of  the  strict  letter 
of  history,  and  allowed  mysell  ihe  privilege  of  making  the  Mercians  his  prin- 
ci[)le  enemy,  as  they  were  his  nearest  neighbours,  (though  properly  speaking, 
the  Mercian  kingdom  was  not  then  foinded.)  The  allifince  between  the  Mer- 
cian  and  the  U'elch,  which  concludes  the  Poem— is  at  least  not  contrary  to 
the  spirit  »f  History — since  in  very  early  periods  such  atnicable  bo i.ds  between 


PREFACE.  Xlil 

May  I  be  pormlttcd  to  say  a  word  as  to  the  metre  T  have  selected  ? 
One  advantage  it  has, — that  while  thoroughly  English,  and  not  un- 
cultivated by  the  best  of  the  elder  masters,  it  has  never  been  applied 
to  a  poem  of  equal  length,  and  has  not  been  made  too  trite  and  fami- 
liar, by  the  lavish  employment  of  recent  writers.  Shakspeare  has 
taught  us  its  riches  in  the  Venus  and  Adonis, — Spenser  in  The  As- 
trophel, — Cowley  has  sounded  its  music  amidst  the  various  intona- 
tions of  his  irregular  lyre.  But  of  late  years,  if  not  wholly  laid  aside,* 
it  has  been  generally  neglected  for  the  more  artificial  and  complicated 
Spenserian  stanza,  which  may  seem,  at  the  first  glance,  to  resemble 
it,  but  which  to  the  ear  is  widely  different  in  rhythm  and  construction. 

The  reader  may  perhaps  remember  that  Dryden  has  spoken  with 
emphatic  praise  of  the  rhyming,  or  elegiac,  metre  with  its  alternate 
rhyme.  He  has  even  regarded  it  as  the  noblest  in  the  language. 
That  metre  in  its  simple  integrity  is  comprised  in  the  stanza  selected, 
ending  in  the  vigour  and  terseness  of  the  rhyming  couplet,  in  which 
for  the  most  part,  the  picture  should  be  closed  or  the  sense  clenched. 
And  whatever  the  imperfection  of  my  own  treatment  of  this  variety 
in  poetic  form,  I  cannot  resist  a  prediction  that  it  will  be  ultimately 
revived  into  more  frequent  use,  especially  in  narrative,  and  that  its 
peculiar  melodies  of  rhythm  and  cadence,  as  well  as  the  just  and 
measured  facilities  it  affords  to  expression,  neither  too  diffuse,  nor 
too  restricted,  will  be  recognized  hereafter  in  the  hands  of  a  more 
accomplished  master  of  our  language. 

Here  ends  all  that  I  feel  called  upon  to  say  respecting  a  Poem 
which  I  now  acknoAvlcdge  as  the  child  of  my  most  cherished  hopes, 
and  to  which  I  deliberately  confide  the  task  to  uphold,  and  the 
chance  to  continue,  its  father's  name. 

The  motives  that  induced  me  to  publish  anonymously  the  first 
portion  of  "  Arthur,"  as  well  as  the  "  New  Timon,"  are  simple 
enough  to  bo  easily  recognised.     An  author  who  has  been  some 

Welch  anil  Mercian  were  contracteJ,  and  the  Welch  on  the  whole,  were  on 
better  terms  with  those  formidable  borderers,  than  with  the  other  branches  of 
the  Saxon  family. 

»  ."Souilicy  lias  used  it  in  the  ••Lay  of  the  Laureate"  and  ''The  Poet's 
Pilgrimage," — not  his  best  known  and  most  considerable  poems. 


XIV  PREFACE. 

time  before  the  public,  feels,  in  undertaking  some  new  attempt  in 
his  vocation,  as  if  released  from  an  indescribable  restraint,  when  he 
pre-resolves  to  hazard  his  experiment  as  that  of  one  utterly  unknown. 
That  determination  gives  at  once  freedom  and  zest  to  his  labours  in 
the  hours  of  composition,  and  on  the  anxious  eve  of  publication, 
restores  to  him  much  of  the  interest  and  pleasureable  excitement, 
that  charmed  his  earliest  delusions.  When  he  escapes  from  the 
judgment  that  has  been  passed  on  his  manhood,  he  seems  again  to 
start  fresh  from  the  expectations  of  his  youth. 

In  my  own  case,  too,  I  believed,  whether  truly  or  erroneously, 
that  my  experiment  would  have  a  fairer  chance  of  justice,  if  it  could 
be  regarded  without  personal  reference  to  the  author  ; — and  at  all 
events  it  was  clear,  that  I  myself  could  the  better  judge  how  far  the 
experiment  had  failed  or  succeeded,  when  freed  from  the  partial 
kindness  of  those  disposed  to  overrate,  or  the  predetermined  censure 
of  those  accustomed  to  despise  my  former  labours. 

These  motives  were  sufficient  to  decide  me  to  hazard  unacknow- 
ledged those  attempts  which  the  public  has  not  ungraciously  received. 
And,  indeed,  I  should  have  been  well  contented  to  preserve  the 
mask,  if  it  had  not  already  failed  to  ensure  the  disguise.  My  iden 
tity  with  the  author  of  these  poems  has  been  so  generally  insisted 
upon,  that  I  have  no  choice  between  the  indiscretion  of  frank  avowal, 
and  the  effrontery  of  flat  denial.  Whatever  influence  of  good  or  ill, 
my  formal  adoption  of  these  foundlings  may  have  upon  their  future 
career,  like  other  adventurers  they  must  therefore  take  their  chance 
in  the  crowd.  Happy  if  they  can  propitiate  their  father's  foes,  yet 
retain  his  friends  ;  and, — irrespective  of  either, — sure  to  be  judged, 
at  last,  according  to  their  own  deserts. 

E,  BULWER  LYTTON. 

January,  1849. 


KING   ARTHUR 


BOOK  I. 


ARGUMENT. 

Opening;  King  Arthur  keeps  holiday  in  the  Vale  of  Carduel ;  Pastimes; 
Arthur's  sentiments  on  life,  love,  and  mortal  change;  the  strange  appa- 
rition ;  The  King  follows  the  phantom  into  the  forest ;  His  return ;  The 
discomfiture  of  his  knights  ;  The  Court  disperses  ;  Night ;  The  restless 
King  ascends  his  battlements ;  His  soliloquy ;  He  is  attracted  by  the 
light  from  the  Wizard's  tower  ;  Merlin  described  ;  The  King's  narra- 
tive ;  The  Enchanter's  invocation ;  Morning ;  The  tilt-yard  ;  Sports, 
knightly  and  national;  Merlin's  address  to  Arthur;  The  three  Labours 
enjoined ;  Arthur  departs  from  Carduel ;  His  absence  explained  by 
Merlin  to  the  Council ;  Description  of  Arthur's  three  friends,  Caradoc, 
Gawaine,  and  Lancelot ;  The  especial  love  between  Arthur  and  the 
last ;  Lancelot  encounters  Arthur ;  The  parting  of  the  friends. 


KING   ARTHUR. 


BOOK  I. 


I. 

Our  land's  first  legends,  love  and  kniglitlj  deeds, 
And  wonderous  Merlin,  and  his  wandering  King, 

The  triple  labour,  and  the  glorious  meeds 
Won  from  the  world  of  Fable-land,  I  sing  : 

Go  forth,  0  Song,  amidst  the  banks  of  old, 

And  glide  translucent  o'er  the  sands  of  gold. 

II. 

Now  is  the  time  when,  after  sparkling  showers, 
Her  starry  wreaths  the  virgin  jasmine  weaves; 

Now  lure  the  bee  wild  thyme  and  sunny  hours ; 
And  light  wings  rustle  thro'  the  glinting  leaves ; 

Music  on  every  bough ;  on  mead  and  lawn 

May  hfts  her  fragrant  altars  to  the  dawn. 

2 


18  KING    ARTHUR. 


III. 


Now  life,  with  every  moment,  seems  to  start 
In  air,  in  wave,  on  earth ;- — above,  below  ; 

And  o'er  her  new-born  children,  Nature's  heart 
Heaves  with  the  gladness  mothers  only  know. 

On  poet  times  the  month  of  poets  shone — 

May  deck'd  the  world  and  Arthur  fill'd  the  throne. 

IV. 

Hard  by  a  stream,  amidst  a  pleasant  vale. 
King  Arthur  held  his  careless  holiday : — 

The  stream  was  blithe  with  many  a  silken  sail. 
The  vale  with  many  a  proud  pavilion  gay; 

While  Cymri's  dragon,  from  the  Roman's  hold,(^) 

Spread  with  calm  wing  o'er  Carduel's  domes  of  gold , 

V. 

Dark  to  the  right,  thick  forests  mantled  o'er 
A  gradual  mountain  sloping  to  the  plain ; 

Whose  gloom  but  lent  to  light  a  charm  the  more. 
As  pleasure  pleases  most  when  neigbouring  pain ; 

And  all  our  human  joys  most  sweet  and  holy, 

Sport  in  the  shadows  cast  from  melancholy. 

VT. 

Below  that  mount,  along  the  glossy  sward, 

Were  gentle  groups,  discoursing  gentle  things  ] — 

Or  listening  idly  where  the  skilful  bard 

Woke  the  sweet  tempest  of  melodious  strings  5 

Or  whispering  love — I  ween,  less  idle  they, 

Eor  love's  the  honey  in  the  flowers  of  May. 


EOOK     T,  19 

VII. 

Some  plied  in  lusty  race  the  glist'ning  oar ; 

Some,  noiseless,  snared  the  silver-scaled  prey ; 
Some  wreathed  the  dance  along  the  level  shore ; 

And  each  was  happy  in  his  chosen  way. 
Not  by  one  shaft  is  care,  the  hj'dra,  kilVd, 
So  mirth  determined,  had  his  quiver  fill'd. 

VIIT. 

Bright  as  the  Morn,  when  all  the  pomp  of  cloud 

Reflects  its  lustre  in  a  rosy  ring, 
The  worthy  centre  of  a  glittering  crowd 

Of  youth  and  beaut3^,  shone  the  British  King, 
Above  that  group,  o'er-arch'd  from  tree  to  tree. 
Thick  garlands  hung  their  odorous  canopy ; 

IX. 

And  in  the  midst  of  that  delicious  shade 

Up  sprang  a  sparkling  fountain,  silver- voiced. 

And  the  bee  murmur  d,  and  the  breezes  j^layed : 
In  their  gay  j^outh,  the  j'outh  of  May  rejoiced — 

And  they  in  hers — as  thro'  that  leafy  hall 

Chimed  the  heart's  laughter  with  the  fountain's  fall. 

X. 

Propp'd  on  his  easy  arm,  the  King  reclined, 
And  glancing  gaily  round  the  ring,  quoth  lie — 

^"'^Man,'  say  our  sages,  Miath  a  fickle  mind. 
And  pleasures  pall,  if  long  enjoy 'd  they  be.' 

But  I,  methinks,  like  this  soft  summer-day, 

Mid  blooms  and  sweets  could  wear  the  hours  away. 


20  KING    ARTHUR. 

XI. 

'^  Feel,  in  the  eyes  of  Love,  a  cloudless  sun, 
T«aste,  in  the  breath  of  Love,  eternal  spring ; 

Could  age  but  keep  the  joys  that  youth  has  won, 
The  human  heart  would  fold  its  idle  wing ! 

If  change  there  be  in  Fate  and  Nature's  plan. 

Wherefore  blame  us  ? — it  is  in  Time,  not  Man." 

XII. 

He  spoke,  and  from  the  happy  conclave  there 
Echoed  the  murmur  "  Time  is  but  to  blame  :" 

Each  knight  glanced  amorous  on  his  chosen  fair. 
And  to  the  glance  blush'd  each  assenting  dame : 

But  thought  had  dimm'd  the  smile  in  Arthur's  eye, 

And  the    light  speech  was  rounded  by  a  sigh. 

XIII. 

And  while  they  murmur'd  "  Time  is  but  to  blame," 
Right  in  the  centre  of  the  silken  ring, 

Sudden  stood  forth  (none  marking  whence  it  came), 
A  strange,  and  weird,  and  phantom-seeming  thing ; 

It  stood,  dim-outlined  in  a  sable  shroud, 

And  shapeless,  as  in  noon-day  hangs  a  cloud. 

XIV. 

Hush'd  was  each  lip,  and  every  cheek  was  pale ; 

The  stoutest  heart  beat  tremulous  and  high ; 
"  Arise,"  it  muttered  from  the  spectral  veil, 

"  I  call  thee.  King !"  Then  burst  the  wrathful  cry, 
Feet  found  the  earth,  and  ready  hands  the  sword. 
And  angry  knighthood  bristled  round  its  lord. 


BOOK   r.  21 

XV. 

But  Arthur  rose,  and,  waiving  back  the  throng, 
Fronted  the  Imaire  with  a  dauntless  brow : 

Then  shrunk  the  Phantom,  indistinct,  along 

The  unbending  herbage,  noiseless,  dark,  and  slow ; 

And  where  the  forest,  night  at  noonday  made, 

Glided, — as  from  the  dial  glides  the  shade. 

xvr. 

Cone  ; — but  an  ice-bound  horror  seem'd  to  cling 
To  air ;  the  revellers  stood  transfix'd  to  stone ; 

While  from  amidst  them,  palely  passed  the  King, 
Dragg'd  by  a  will  more  royal  than  his  own  : 

Onwards  he  went ;  the  invisible  control 

Compell'd  hnn,  as  a  dream  compels  the  soul. 

XVII. 

They  saw,  and  sought  to  stay  him,  but  in  vain ; 

They  saw,  and  sought  to  speak,  but  voice  was  dumb  : 
So  Death  some  warrior  from  his  armed  train 

Plucks  forth  defenceless  when  his  hour  is  come. 
He  gains  the  wood ;  their  sight  the  shadows  bar, 
And  darkness  wraps  him  as  the  cloud  a  star. 

XVIII. 

Abruptly,  as  it  came,  the  charm  was  past 
That  bound  the  circle  :  as  from  heavy  sleep 

Starts  the  hush'd  war-camp  at  the  trumpet's  blast, 
Fierce  into  life  the  voiceless  revellers  leap ; 

Swift  to  the  wood  the  glittering  tumult  springs, 

And  thro'  the  vale  the  shrill  box-lef-iier  rin^rs.* 

*  The  shout  of  war. 


22  KING    ARTHUR. 

XIX. 

From  stream,  from  tent,  from  pastime  near  and  far^ 

All  press  confusedly  to  the  signal  cry- 
So  from  the  Rock  of  Birds*  the  shout  of  war 

Sends  countless  wings  in  clamour  thro'  the  sky — 
The  cause  a  word,  the  track  a  sign  affords, 
And  all  the  forest  gleams  with  starry  swords. 

XX. 

As  on  some  stag  the  hunters  single,  gaze, 
Gathering  together,  and  from  far,  the  herd, 

So  round  the  margin  of  the  woodland-maze 
Pale  beauty  circles,  trembling  if  a  bird 

Flutter  a  bough,  or  if,  without  a  sound, 

Some  leaf  fall  breezeless,  eddying  to  the  ground. 

XXI. 

An  hour  or  more  had  towards  the  western  seas 
Speeded  the  golden  chariot  of  the  day. 

When  a  white  plume  came  glancing  through  the  trees, 
The  serried  branches  groaningly  gave  way. 

And,  with  a  bound,  delivered  from  the  wood, 

Safe,  in  the  sun-light,  royal  Arthur  stood. 

XXII. 

Who  shall  express  the  joy  that  aspect  woke  ! 

Some  laugh'd  aloud,  and  clapped  their  snowy  hands ; 
•  Some  ran,  some  knelt,  some  turn'd  aside  and  broke 

Into  glad  tears  : — But  all  unheeding  stands 
The  King ;  and  shivers  in  the  glowing  light ; 
And  his  breast  heaves  as  panting  from  a  fight. 

*  The  Rock  of  Birds — Coatr  y  Deutn — so  called  from  the  number  of  birds 
(chiefly  those  of  prey)  that  breed  on  it. 


BOOK    I.  23 

XXIII. 

Yet  still  ill  those  pale  features,  seen  more  near. 
Speak  the  stern  will,  the  soul  to  valour  true  \ 

It  shames  man  not  to  feel  man's  human  fear, 
It  shames  man  only  if  the  fear  subdue ; 

And  masking  trouble  with  a  noble  guile, 

Soon  the  proud  heart  restores  the  kingly  smile. 

XXIV. 

But  no  account  could  anxious  love  obtain, 
Nor  curious  wonder,  of  the  portents  seen ; 

"  Bootless  his  search,"  he  lightly  said,  "  and  vain 
As  haply  had  the  uncourteous  summons  been. 

Some  mocking  sport,  perchance,  of  merry  May." 

He  ceased ;  and  shuddering,  turn'd  his  looks  awa3^ 

XXV. 

Now,  back,  alas,  less  comely  than  they  went. 
Drop,  one  by  one,  the  seekers  from  the  chase, 

With  mangled  plumes  and  mantles  dreadly  rent ; — 
Sore  bleed  the  Loves  in  Elphin's*  blooming  face ; 

Madoc,  whose  dancing  scarcely  brush'd  the  dew, 

O  grief !  limps,  crippled  by  a  stump  of  j' ew  1 

XXVI. 

In  short,  such  pranks  had  briar  and  bramble  played, 
And  stock  and  stone,  with  vest,  and  face,  and  limb, 

That  had  some  wretch  denied  the  place  was  made 
For  sprites,  a  sprite  had  soon  been  made  of  him  ! 

And  sure,  nought  less  than  some  demoniac  power 

Had  looks  so  sweet  bewitched  to  lines  so  sour. 

*  Ei.pHTN,  the  youn^  prince  who  discovered  the  famous  Talicssin,  (exposed  as 
an  infant  in  a  leather  ba?),  appears  to  have  been  remarkable  for  hie  good  looks, 
according;  to  the  poem  addressed  to  him  by  ihe  giaicful  baid,  and  well  known  to 
the  culiivdtors  of  \A'elch  literature. 


24  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXVII. 

But  shame  and  anger  vanish'd  when  they  saw 
Him  whose  warm  smile  a  life  had  well  repaid^ 

For  noble  hearts  a  noble  chief  can  draw 
Into  that  circle  where  all  self  doth  fade ; 

Lost  in  the  sea  a  hundred  waters  roll, 

And  subject  natures  merge  in  one  great  soul. 

XXVIII. 

Now  once  again  quick  question,  brief  reply, 

''What  saw,  what  heard  the  king?"  "Nay,  gentles,  what 

Saw  and  heard  ye  ?" — "  The  forest  and  the  sky, 
The  rustling  branches."—"  And  the  phantom  not  ? 

No  more,"  quoth  Arthur,  "  of  a  thriftless  chase, 

For  cheer  so  stinted  brief  may  be  the  grace. 

XXIX. 

''  But  see,  the  sun  descendeth  down  the  w^est, 
And  graver  cares  to  Carduel  now  recall : 

Gawaine,  my  steed ; — Sweet  ladies,  gentle  rest^ 
And  dreams  of  happy  morrows  to  ye  all." 

Now  stirs  the  movement  on  the  busy  plain ; 

To  horse^ — to  boat ;  and  homeward  wind  the  train, 

XXX. 

O'er  hill,  down  stream,  the  pageant  fades  aw^ay. 
More  and  more  faint  the  splash  of  dipping  oar ; 

Voices,  and  music,  and  the  steed's  shrill  neigh. 
From  the  gray  twilight  dying  more  and  more ; 

Till  over  stream  and  valley,  wide  and  far, 

Eeign  the  sad  silence  and  the  solemn  star. 


BOOK     I.  2-5 

XXXI. 

Save  where,  like  some  true  poet's  lonely  soul, 

Careless  who  hears,  sings  on  the  unheeded  fountain ; 

Save  where  the  thin  elouds  wanly,  slowly  roll 
O'er  the  mute  darkness  of  the  forest  mountain — 

Where,  haply,  busied  with  unholy  rite. 

Still  glides  that  phantom,  and  dismays  the  night. 

XXXII. 

Sleep,  the  sole  angel  left  of  all  below, 

O'er  the  lull'd  city  sheds  the  ambrosial  wreaths, 

Wet  with  the  dews  of  Eden ;  Bliss  and  Woe 
Are  equals,  and  the  lowest  slave  that  breathes 

Under  the  shelter  of  those  healing  wings, 

Eeigns,  half  his  life,  in  realms  too  fair  for  Kings. 

XXXIII. 

Too  fair  those  dreams  for  Arthur ;  long  he  lay 
An  exiled  suppliant  at  the  gate  of  dreams, 

And  vexed,  and  Avild,  and  fitful  as  a  ray 

Quivering  upon  the  surge  of  stormy  streams ; 

Thought  broke  in  glimmering  trouble  o'er  his  breast, 

And  found  no  billow  where  its  beam  could  rest.* 

XXXIV. 

He  rose,  and  round  him  drew  his  ermined  gown, 
Pass'd  from  his  chamber,  Avound  the  turret  stair. 

And  from  his  castle's  steep  embattled  crown 
Bared  his  hot  forehead  to  the  freshening  air. 

How  Silence,  like  a  god's  tranquility, 

Fill'd  with  delighted  peace  the  conscious  sky ! 

*  "  Qual  d'acqua  chiara  il  trcmolante  lurae,"  etc. — Ariodo,  canto  viii.  stan.  74. 


26  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXXV. 

Broo.d,  luminous,  serene,  the  sovereign  moon 
Shone  o'er  the  roofs  below,  the  lands  afar — 

The  vale  so  joyous  with  the  mirth  at  noon ; 
The  pastures  virgin  of  the  lust  of  war ; 

Fair  waters  sparkling  as  they  seaward  roll, 

As  to  Time's  ocean  speeds  a  happy  soul. 

XXXVI. 

"  And  must  these  pass  from  me  and  mine  away  ?" 
Mui'mured  the  monarch  ;  "  Must  the  mountain  home 

Of  those  whose  fathers,  in  a  ruder  day. 

With  naked  bosoms  rush'd  on  shrinking  Rome,(^) 

Yield  this  last  refuge  from  the  ruthless  wave. 

And  what  was  Britain  be  the  Saxon's  slave? 

xxxvir. 
"  Why  hymn  our  harps  high  music  in  our  hall  ? 

Doom'd  is  the  tree  whose  fruit  was  noble  deeds — 
Where  the  axe  S23ared  the  thunder-bolt  must  fall. 

And  the  wind  scatter  where  it  list  the  seeds ! 
Fate  breathes,  and  kingdoms  wither  at  the  breath, 
But  kings  are  deathless,  kingly  if  the  death ;" 

XXXVIII. 

He  ceased,  and  look'd  v/ith  a  defying  eye. 

Where  the  dark  forest  clothed  the  mount  with  awe ; 

Gazed,  and  then  proudly  turn'd : — when  lo,  hard  by 
From  a  lone  turret  in  his  keep,  he  saw. 

Through  the  horn   casement,  a  clear  steadfast  light. 

Lending  meek  tribute  to  the  orbs  of  night. 


BOOK    I.  27 

XXXIX. 

And  fiir  and  far,  I  ween,  that  little  ray 

Sent  its  pure  streamlet  tlirougli  the  world  of  air. 

The  wanderer  oft,  benighted  on  his  way, 
Saw  it,  and  paused  in  superstitious  prayer, 

For  well  he  knew  the  beacon  and  the  tower. 

And  the  great  Master  of  the  spells  of  power. 

XL. 

There  He,  who  yet  in  faljle's  deathless  page 

Reigns  compass'd  with  the  ring  of  pleasing  dread, 

Which  the  true  wizard,  whether  bard  or  sage. 

Draws  round  him  living,  and  commands  when  dead — 

The  solemn  Merlin — from  the  midnight  won 

The  hosts  that  bowed  to  starry  Solomon. 

XLI. 

Not  fear  that  light  on  Arthur's  breast  bestowed. 
As  with  a  father's  smile  it  met  his  gaze ; 

It  cheered,  it  soothed,  it  warmed  him  while  it  glowed ; 
Brought  Ijack  the  memory  of  young  hopeful  days. 

When  the  child  stood  by  the  great  jDrophet's  knee. 

And  drank  high  thoughts  to  strengthen  years  to  be. 

XLII. 

As  with  a  tender  chiding  the  calm  light 
Seem'd  to  reproach  him  for  secreted  care, 

Seem'd  to  ask  back  the  old  familiar  right 
Of  lore  to  counsel,  or  of  love  to  share  ; 

The  prompt  heart  answers  to  the  voiceless  call. 

And  the  step  quickens  o'er  the  winding  wall. 


28  KING    ARTHUR. 

XLIII 

Before  that  tower  precipitously  sink 

The  walls,  down-shelving  to  the  castle  base ; 

A  slender  drawbridge,  swung  from  brink  to  brink, (^) 
Alone  gives  fearful  access  to  the  place ; 

Now  from  that  tower,  the  chains  the  drawbridge  raise, 

And  leave  the  gulf  all  pathless  to  the  gaze. 

XLIV. 

But  close  where  Arthur  stands,  a  warder's  horn, 
Fix'd  to  the  stone,  to  those  who  dare  to  win 

The  enchanter's  cell,  supplies  the  note  to  warn 
The  mighty  weaver  of  dread  webs  within. 

Loud  sounds  the  horn,  the  chain  descending  clanocs 

And  o'er  the  abyss  the  dizzy  pathway  hangs ; 


o^^? 


XLV. 

Mutely  the  door  slides  sullen  in  the  stone. 

And  closes  back,  the  gloomy  threshold  cross'd ; 

There  sate  the  wizard  on  a  Druid  throne. 

Where  sate  Duw-Ioii,(^)  ere  his  reign  was  lost; 

His  wand  uplifted  in  his  solemn  hand. 

And  the  weird  volume  on  its  brazen  stand. 

XLVI. 

Yast  was  the  front  which,  o'er  as  vast  a  breast. 
Hung,  as  if  heavy  with  the  load  sublime 

Of  the  piled  hoards  which  Thought,  the  heavenly  guest, 
Had  wrung  from  Nature,  or  despoil'd  from  Time ; 

And  the  unutterable  calmness  shows 

The  toil's  great  victory  by  the  soul's  repose. 


BOOK    I.  20 

xLvir. 

Even  as  the  Tyrian  \iew.s  his  argosies, 

Moor'd  ill  the  port  (the  gold  of  Ophir  won), 

And  heeds  no  more  the  billow  and  the  breeze, 

And  the  clouds  wandering  o'er  the  the  wintry  sun, 

So  calmly  Wisdom  eyes  (its  voyage  o'er) 

The  traversed  ocean  from  the  beetling  shore. 

XL  VIII. 

A  hundred  years  press'd  o'er  that  awful  head, 

As  o'er  an  Alp,  their  diadem  of  snow ; 
And,  as  an  Alp,  a  hundred  years  had  fled, 

And  left  as  firm  the  giant  form  below; 
So  sate,  ere  yet  discrown'd,  in  Ida's  grove, 
The  grey-hair'd  father  of  Pelasgian  Jove. 

XLTX. 

Before  that  power,  sublimer  than  his  own. 

With  downcast  looks,  the  king  inclined  the  knee; 

The  enchanter  smiled,  and,  bending  from  his  throne, 
Drew^  to  his  breast  his  pupil  tenderly; 

And  press'd  his  lips  on  that  3^oung  forehead  fair. 

And  with  large  hand  smoothed  back  the  golden  hair. 

L. 

And,  looking  in  those  frank  and  azure  eyes, 

"What,"  said  the  prophet,  "doth  my  Arthur  seek 

From  the  gray  wisdom  which  the  young  despise? 
The  young,  perchance,  are  right! — Fair  infant,  speakl ' 

Thrice  sigh'd  the  monarch,  and  at  length  began : 

"  Can  wisdom  ward  the  storm  of  fate  from  man  ? 


30  KING    ARTHUR. 


LT. 

"  What  spell  can  tliriist  Affliction  from  the  gate  ? 

What  tree  is  sacred  from  the  lightning  flame?" 
"Son,"  said  the  seer,  "the  laurel! — even  Fate, 

Which  blasts  Ambition,  but  illumines  Fame. 
Say  on." — The  king  smiled  sternly,  and  obey'd — 
Track  we  the  steps  which  track'd  the  warning  shade. 

LII. 

"On  to  the  v/ood,  and  to  its  its  inmost  dell 
Will-less  I  went,"  the  monarch  thus  pursued^ 

"  Before  me  still,  but  darkly  visible. 

The  phantom  glided  through  the  solitude; 

At  length  it  paused, — a  sunless  pool  was  near, 

As  ebon  black,  and  yet  as  crystal  clear. 

LIII. 

" '  Look,  King,  below,'  whispered  the  shadowy  One : 
What  seem'd  a  hand  sign'd  beckoning  to  the  wave, 

I  look'd  below,  and  never  realms  undone 

Show'd  war  more  awful  than  the  mirror  gave; 

There  rusli'd  the  steed,  there  glanced  on  spear  the  spea.r, 

And  spectre-squadrons  closed  in  fell  career. 

LIV. 

"  I  saw — I  saw  my  dragon  standing  there, — 

There  throng'd  the  Briton,  there  the  Saxon  wheel'd ; 

1  saw  it  vanish  from  that  nether  air — 

I  saw  it  trampled  on  tha.t  phantom  field ; — 

On  poured  the  Saxon  hosts — we  lied — we  fled ! 

And  the  Pale  Horse*  rose  ghastly  o'er  the  dead. 

*  The  White  Horse,  the  stantlard  of  the  Saxons, 


BOOK    I.  31 

hV. 

"  Lo,  the  wan  shadow  of  a  giant  hand 

Pass'd  o'ei^  the  pool — the  demon  war  was  gone ; 

City  on  city  stretch'd,  and  land  on  land ; 

The  wonderons  landscape  hroadening,  lengthening  on, 

Till  that  small  compass  in  its  clasp  contain'd 

All  this  wide  isle  o'er  which  my  fathers  reign'd. 

LVI. 

*'  There,  ]jy  the  lord  of  streams,  a  palace  rose ; 

On  hloodv  floors  there  was  a  throne  of  state ; 
And  in  the  land  there  dwelt  one  race — our  foes; 

And  on  the  single  throne  the  Saxon  sate ! 
And  Cymri's  crown  was  on  his  knitted  hrow ; 
And  where  stands  Carduel,  went  the  laborer's  plough. 

LVIT. 

'''And  east  and  west,  and  north  and  south  I  turn'd, 
And  call'd  my  people  as  a  king  should  call ; 

Pale  in  the  IioUoav  mountains  I  discern'd 

Rude  scattered  stragglers  from  the  common  thrall; 

Kingless  and  armyless,  by  crag  and  cave, — 

Ghosts  on  the  margin  of  their  country's  grave. 

LVIII. 

•'And  even  there,  amidst  the  barren  steeps, 
I  heard  the  tramp,  I  saw  the  Saxon  steel; 

Aloft,  red  murder  like  a  deluge  sweeps, 

Nor  rock  can  save,  nor  cavern  can  conceal ; 

Hill  after  hill,  the  waves  devouring  rise, 

Till  in  one  mist  of  carnage  closed  my  eyes ! 


Of 


O 


2  KING     ARTHUR. 


LiX. 

''  Then  spoke  tlie  hell-born  shadow  by  mj  side — ■    - 
'0  king,  who  dreamest,  amid  sweets  and  bloom, 

Life,  like  one  summer  holiday,  can  glide. 

Blind  to  the  storm-cloud  of  the  coming  doom ; 

Arthur  Pendragon,*  to  the  Saxon's  sway 

Thy  kingdom  and  thy  crown  shall  pass  away.' 

LX. 

^'^And  who  art  thou,  that  Heaven's  august  decrees 
Usurpest  thus?'  I  cried,  and  lo  the  space 

Was  void ! — Amidst  the  horror  of  the  trees. 
And  by  the  pool,  which  mirror'd  back  the  face 

Of  Dark  in  crystal  darkness — there  I  stood, 

And  the  sole  spectre  was  the  Solitude! 

LXI. 

'^  I  knew  no  more — strong  as  a  mighty  dream 
The  trouble  seized  the  soul,  and  seal'd  the  sense; 

I  knew  no  more,  till  in  the  blessed  beam, 
Life  sprung  to  loving  Nature  for  defence ; 

Yale,  flower,  and  fountain  laugh'd  in  jocund  spring, 

And  pride  came  back, — again  I  was  a  king! 

Lxir. 

"  But,  even  the  while  with  airy  sport  of  tongue 
(As  with  light  wing  the  skylark  from  its  nest 

Lures  the  invading  step)  I  led  the  throng 
From  the  dark  brood  of  terror  in  my  breast ; 

Still  frown'd  the  vision  on  my  haunted  eye, 

And  blood  seem'd  reddening  in  the  azure  sky. 

*  Pexdragox  is  here  used  in  its  true  sense,  not  as  a  proper  name,  but  a  royal 
title — i.  e.,  the  head  of  the  Dragon  race. 


BOOK  I.  :V> 


LXIII. 

^'0  tliou,  the  Almi<>litv  Lord  of  earth  and  heaven. 
Without  whose  will  not  even  a  ^sparrow  fallsj 

If  to  mv  sifi^ht  the  fearful  trutli  wa.s  <2:iven. 
If  thy  dread  hand  hath  graven  on  these  walls 

The  Assyrian's  doom,  and  to  the  stran Goer's  swav 

My  kingdom  and  my  crown  shall  pass  away, — 

LXIV, 

^^Gi^nt  thi'3 — a  freeman's,  if  a  monarch's,  prayer! — 
Life,  while  my  life  one  man  from  chains  can  save; 

While  earth  one  ix^^fuge,  or  the  cave  one  luir, 
Yields  to  tlie  closing  struggle  of  the  hi^ve ! — 

Mine  the  la^t  desperate  but  avenging  hand, 

If  reft  the  sceptre,  not  resigned  the  brand!" 

LXV. 

^•^ Close  to  my  clasp!"  the  prophet  cried,  "Impart 
.    To  these  iced  veins  the  glow  of  j^outh  once  more: 
The  healthful  throb  of  one  great  human  heart 
Baffles  more  fiends  than  all  a  ma^ian's  lore. 
My  boy ! — "  young  arms  eml^racing  check'd  the  rest, 
And  youth  and  a52:e  stood  minf^fled  breast  to  breast. 

LXVI. 

^*  Ho  1"  cried  the  mighty  master,  while  he  broke 
From  the  embrace,  and  round  from  vault  to  tkx^r 

Mysterious  echoes  answered  a.s  he  spoke; 

And  flames  twined  snake-like  round  the  wand  he  bore^ 

And  freezing  winds  swept  wheeling  through  the  cell, 

As  from  the  winsis  of  hosts  invisible : 

3 


34  KING     ARTHUR. 

LXVII. 

"  IIo !  ye  spiritual  Ministers  of  all 

The  airy  space  below  the  Sapphire  Throne^ 

To  the  swift  axle  of  this  earthly  ball — 
Yea,  to  the  deep,  where  evermore  alone 

Hell's  king  with  memory  of  lost  glory  dwells, 

And  from  that  memory  weaves  his  hell  of  hells ; — 

LXVIII. 

'*^Ho!  ye  who  fill  the  crevices  of  air, 

And  speed  the  whirlwind  round  the  reeling  bark — 
Or  dart  destroying  in  the  forked  glare, 

Or  rise — the  bloodless  People  of  the  Dark, 
In  the  pale  shape  of  Dreams — when  to  the  bed 
Of  Murder  glide  the  simulated  dead ! 

LXIX. 

''  Hither,  ye  myriad  hosts ! — O'er  tower  and  dome, 
Wait  the  high  mission,  and  attend  the  word : 

Whether  to  pierce  the  mountain  with  the  gnome, 
Or  soar  to  heights  where  never  wing'd  the  bird; 

So  that  the  secret  and  the  boon  ye  wrest 

From  Time's  cold  grasp  or  Fate's  reluctant  breast!" 

LXX. 

Mute  stood  the  king — when  lo,  the  dragon-keep 
Shook  to  its  rack'd  foundations,  as  when  all 

Corycia's  caverns  and  the  Delphic  steep 
Shook  to  the  foot-tread  of  invading  Gaul;* 

Or,  as  his  path  when  flaming  ^tna  frees, 

Shakes  some  proud  city  on  Sicilian  seas : 

•  See  Pausanias  (Phocics,  c.  23),  for  the  animated  description  of  the  march  of 
Brennus  upon  Delphi. 


BOOK     T.  of) 

LXXI. 

Reel'd  heaving  from  his  feet  the  dizzy  floor; 

Swam  dreamlike  on  his  gaze  the  fading  cell ; 
As  Mis  the  seaman  when  the  waves  dash  o'er 

The  plank  that  glideth  from  his  grasp — he  fell. 
To  eyes  ungifted,  deadly  were  the  least 
Of  those  last  mysteries,  Nature  yields  her  priest. 

LXXII. 

Morn,  the  joy-hringer,  from  her  sparkling  uni 
Scatters  o'er  herb  and  flower  the  orient  dew ; 

The  larks  to  heaven,  and  souls  to  thought  return — 
Life,  in  each  source,  leaps  rushing  forth  anew, 

Fills  every  grain  in  nature's  boundless  plan. 

And  wakes  new  fates  in  each  desire  of  man, 

LXXIII. 

In  each  desire,  eadi  thought,  each  fear,  each  hope, 
Each  scheme,  each  wish,  each  fancy,  and  each  end, 

That  morn  calls  forth,  say,  who  can  span  the  sco]_>e  ? 
Who  track  the  arrow  which  the  soul  mav  send  ? 

One  morning  woke  Olympia's  youthful  son. 

And  long'd  for  fame — and  half  the  world  was  won. 

LXXIV. 

Fair  shines  the  sun  on  stately  Carduel ; 

The  falcon,  hoodwink'd,  basks  upon  the  wall ; 
The  tilt-3^ard  echoes  with  the  clarion's  swell. 

And  lusty  youth  comes  thronging  to  the  call ; 
And  martial  sports  (the  daily  wont)  begin. 
The  page  must  practice  if  the  knight  would  win. 


of)  KING     ARTHUR. 


LXXV. 


Some  spur  the  palfrey  at  the  distant  ring ; 

Some,  with  bkmt  lance,  in  mimic  tourney  charge ; 
Here  skirs  the  pebble  from  the  poised  sling, 

Or  flies  the  arrow  rounding  to  the  targe ; 
Yf  hile  Age  and  Fame  sigh  smiling  to  behold 
The  young  leaves  budding  to  replace  the  old. 

LXXVI. 

Nor  yet  forgot  amid  the  special  sports 
Of  polish'd  Chivalry,  the  primal  ten* 

Athletic  contests,  known  in  older  courts 

Ere  knighthood  rose  from  the  great  father-men. 

Beyond  the  tilt-yard  spread  the  larger  space. 

For  the  strong  wrestle  and  the  breathless  race ; 

LXXVII. 

Here  some,  the  huge  dull  weights  up-heaving  throw ; 

Some  ply  the  staff,  and  some  the  sword  and  shield , 
And  some  that  falchion  with  its  thunder-blow 

Which  Heus,  ( '" )  the  guardian,  taught  the  Celt  to  wield ; 
Ileus,  who  first  guided  o'er  the  "  Hazy  Sea" 
Our  Titanf  sires  from  far  Defrobnvi. 

*  The  ten  manly  games  (Gwrolgampan),  were,  first, — six  called  the  "Father- 
games"  (Tadogion),  viz.,  lifting  weights,  running,  leaping,  swimming,  wrestling, 
riding,  or  chariot  races; — the  four  last,  more  devoted  to  skill  in  arms,  were  arches  y, 
playing  with  the  two-handed  stafT,  playing  with  the  sword  and  shield,  and  espe- 
cially the  exercise  of  the  Cleddtf  DKunnwuN,  or  two-handed  sword  (a  very  early 
national  weapon). 

f  "  Our  Titan  sires?'' — according  to  certain  mythologists,  the  Celts,  or  Cimme- 
rians, were  the  Titans.  On  the  other  hand,  some  of  the  early  chroniclers  make  the 
giants,  or  Titans,  the  aborigines  of  the  island, — whom  the  Britons  very  properly  ex- 
terminate. 


BOOK     I.  37 

LXXVIII. 

Life  thUvS  astir,  and  sport  upon  the  wing, 

Why  yet  doth  Arthur  dream  day's  prime  away  ? 

Still  in  charm'd  sluml)er  lies  the  quiet  King ; 
On  his  own  couch  the  merry  sunbeams  play ; 

Gleam  o'er  the  arms  hung  trophied  from  the  wall ; 

And  Cymri's  antique  crown  surmounting  all. 

LXXIX. 

Slowly  he  woke ;  life  came  back  Avith  a  sigh, 
(That  herald,  or  that  henchman  to  the  gate 

Of  all  our  knoAvledge  ;) — and  his  startled  eye 
Fell  where  beside  his  couch  the  prophet  sate ; 

And  with  that  sight  rushed  back  the  mystic  cell, 

The  awful  summons,  the  arrested  spell. 

LXXX. 

"  Prince,"  said  the  prophet,  '"  with  this  morn  awake 
From  pomp,  from  pleasure,  to  high  toils  and  brave ; 

From  yonder  wall  the  arms  of  knighthood  take. 
But  leave  the  crown  the  knightly  arms  may  save ; 

O'er  mount  and  vale,  go,  pilgrim,  forth  alone. 

And  win  the  gifts  which  shall  defend  a  throne. 

LXXXI. 

"  So  speak  the  fates — till  in  the  heavens  the  sun 
Rounds  his  revolving  course,  0  King,  return 

To  man's  first,  noblest  birthright,  toil  : — so  won 
In  Grecian  fable,  to  the  ambrosial  urn 

Of  joyous  Hebe,  and  the  Olympian  grove, 

Th(^  labouring  son  Alcmena  bore  to  Jove. 


38  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXXII. 

"  By  the  stout  heart  to  peril's  sight  enured, 

By  the  wise  brain  which  toil  hath  stored  and  skill'd, 

Valour  is  school'd  and  glory  is  secured, 

And  the  large  ends  of  fame  and  fate  fulfill'd  : 

But  hear  the  gifts  thy  year  of  proof  must  gain, 

One  left  unwon,  and  all  the  quest  is  vain. 

LXXXIII. 

"  The  Falchion,  welded  from  a  diamond  gem^ 

Guarded  by  Genii  in  the  sparry  caves 
Where  springs  a  forest  from  a  single  stem. 

Shadowing  a  temple  built  beneath  the  waves; 
Where  bitter  charms  grant  gifted  eyes  to  mark 
The  Lake's  weird  Lady  in  her  noiseless  bark. 

LXXXIV. 

"  The  silver  Shield  in  which  the  infant  sleep 
Of  Thor  was  cradled, — ^now  the  jealous  care 

Of  the  fierce  Dwarf  whose  home  is  on  the  deep^ 
Where  drifting  icerocks  clash  in  lifeless  air; 

And  War's  pale  Sisters  smile  to  see  the  shock 

Stir  the  still  curtains  round  the  couch  of  Lok. 

1.XXXV. 

"  And  last  of  all — before  the  Iron  Gate 

Which  023es  its  entrance  at  the  faintest  breath. 

But  hath  no  egress;  where  remorseless  Fate 
Sits,  weaving  life,  witliin  the  porch  of  Death ; 

There  with  meek  fearless  eye,  and  locks  of  gold^ 

Back  to  warm  earth  thy  childlike  guide  behold. 


BOOK    I.  39 

LXXXVI. 

"  The  sword,  the  shield,  and  that  young  phijmate  guide, 
Win;  and  the  liend  predicting  wrath,  >shall  He; 

Be  danger  hraved,  and  be  dehght  defied, 

Front  death  with  dauntless,  but  with  solemn  eye ; 

And  tho'  dark  wings  hang  o'er  these  threatened  halls, 

Tho'  war's  red  surge  break  thundering  round  thy  walls. 

Lxxxvn. 
"  Tho',  in  the  rear  of  time,  these  prophet  eyes 

See  to  thy  sons,  thy  Cymrians,  manj^  a  woe ; 
Yet  from  thy  loins  a  race  of  kings  shall  rise. 

Whose  throne  shall  shadow  all  the  seas  that  How; 
Whose  empire,  broader  than  the  Cassar  won. 
Shall  clasp  a  realm  Avhere  never  sets  the  sun.C') 

Lxxxvni. 

"  And  thou,  thyself,  slialt  live  from  age  to  age, 
A  thought  of  beauty  and  a  type  of  fame ; — 

Not  the  faint  memory  of  some  mouldering  page, 
But  by  the  hearths  of  men  a  household  name ! 

Theme  to  all  sono;,  and  marvel  to  all  vouth — 

Beloved  as  Fable,  yet  believed  as  Truth. 

LXXXIX. 

"  But  if  thou  fail — thrice  Avoe !"  Up  sprang  the  King : 
"  Let  the  Avoe  fall  on  feeble  kings  who  fail 

Their  country's  need !  When  falcons  spread  the  wing 
They  face  the  sun,  not  tremble  at  the  gale : 

With  such  rewards,  when  ever  failed  the  brave, 

A  name  to  conquer  and  a  land  to  save?" 


4(1  KING     ARTHUR, 

xc. 

Ere  jet  tlie  tsliadows  from  tlie  castle's  base 

Sliow'd  lapsing  noon — in  Carcluel's  council  hall. 

To  the  high  princes  of  the  dragon  race, 
The  mighty  prophet,  whom  the  awe  of  all 

As  Fate's  unerring  oracle  adored, — 

Told  the  self  exile  of  the  parted  lord. 

xci. 

For  his  throne's  safety  and  his  country's  weal 
On  high  emprize  to  distant  regions  bound ; 

The  cause  must  wisdom  for  success  conceal ; 
For  each  sage  counsel  is,  as  fate,  profound : 

And  none  mav  trace  the  travail  in  the  seed. 

Till  the  blade  burst  to  glory  in  the  deed> 

xcir. 

Few  were  the  orders,  as  wise  orders  are, 
For  the  upholding  of  the  chiefiess  throne ; 

To  strengthen  peace  and  yet  prepare  for  war; 
Lest  the  fierce  Saxon  (Arthur's  absence  known). 

Loose  Death's  pale  charger  from  the  broken  rein, 

To  its  grim  pastures  on  the  bloody  plain. 

XCIII. 

Leave  we  the  startled  Princes  in  the  hall  ; 

Leave  we  the  wondering  babblers  in  the  mart. 
The  grief,  the  guess,  the  hope,  the  doubt,  and  all 

That  stir  a  nation  to  its  inmost  heart. 
When  some  portentous  Chance,  unseen  till  then. 
Strides  in  the  circles  of  unthinking  men. 


BOOK     I.  41 

xciv. 
Where  the  screen'cl  portal  from  the  embattled  town, 

Opes  midway  on  the  hill,  the  lonely  King, 
Forth  issuing,  guides  his  barbed  charger  down 

The  steep  descent.     Amidst  the  pomp  of  spring 
Lapses  the  lucid  river ;  jocund  May 
Waits  in  the  vale  to  strew  with  flowers  liis  way. 

xcv. 

Of  brightest  steel,  (but  not  emboss'd  Avith  gold, 
As  when  in  tourneys  rode  the  royal  knight), 

His  arms  Hash  sunshine  back ;   the  azure  fold 
Of  the  broad  mantle,  like  a  wave  of  light. 

Floats  tremulous,  and  leaves  the  sword-arm  free. 

Fair  was  that  darling  of  all  Poetry! 

XCVI. 

Thro'  the  raised  vizor  beam'd  the  fearless  eye, 

The  limpid  mirror  of  a  stately  soul ; 
Bright  with  young  hope,  but  grave  with  purpose  high ; 

Sweet  to  encourage,  steadftist  to  control ; 
An  e3'e  from  which  subjected  hosts  might  draw. 
As  from  a  double  fountain,  love  and  awe. 

XCVII. 

The  careless  curl,  that  from  the  helm  escaped. 
Gleamed  in  the  sunlight,  lending  gold  to  gold. 

The  features,  clear  as  by  a  chisel  shaped, 
Made  manhood  godlike  as  a  Greek's  of  old ; 

Save  that,  in  hardier,  bolder  lines,  looked  forth 

The  soul  that  nerves  the  warchild  of  the  North. 


42  KING    ARTHUR. 

XCVIII. 

O'er  tlie  light  limb,  and  o'er  the  shoulders  broad, 
The  steel  flowed  j^liant  as  a  silken  vest ; 

Strength  was  so  suple  that  like  grace  it  showed, 
And  force  was  only  by  its  ease  confest ; 

Even  as  the  storms  in  gentlest  water  sleep, 

And  in  the  ripple  flows  the  mighty  deep. 

xcix. 
Now  wound  his  path  beside  the  woods  that  hang 

O'er  the  green  pleasaunce  of  the  sunlit  plain. 
When  a  young  footstep  from  the  forest  sprang, 

And  a  light  hand  was  on  the  charger's  rein ; 
Surprised,  the  adventurer  halts, — but  pleased  surveys 
The  friendly  face  that  smiles  upon  his  gaze. 

c. 
Of  all  the  flowers  of  knighthood  in  his  train. 

Three  he  loved  best;  young  Caradoc  the  mild, 
Whose  soul  was  filled  with  song;  and  frank  Gawaine,(') 

Whom  mirth  for  ever,  like  a  fnirj  child, 
Lock'd  from  the  cares  of  life ;  l^ut  neither  grew 
Close  to  his  heart,  like  Lancelot  the  true. 

CI. 

Gawaine  when  gay,  and  Caradoc  when  grave. 
Pleased  :  but  young  Lancelot,  or  grave  or  gay. 

As  yet  life's  sea  had  roll'd  not  with  a  wave 

To  rend  the  plank  from  those  twin  hearts  away; 

At  childhood's  gate  instinctive  love  began 

And  warm'd  with  every  sun  that  led  to  man. 


book:  I.  43 

CII. 

The  same  sports  lured  them,  the  same  hibours  strung, 
Tlie  same  son^^  thrill'd  them  with  the  same  deliiiht ; 

Where  in  the  aisle  their  maiden  arms  had  hung, 
The  same  moon  lit  them  thro'  the  watchful  night ; 

The  same  day  bound  their  knighthood  to  maintain 

Life  from  reproach,  and  honour  from  a  stain. 

cm.   . 
And  if  the  friendship  scarce  in  each  the  same, 

The  soul  has  rivals  where  the  heart  has  not ; 
So  Lancelot  loved  his  Arthur  more  than  fame, 

And  Arthur  more  than  life  his  Lancelot. 
Lost  here  Art's  mean  distinctions !  knightly  troth, 
Frank  youth,  high  thoughts,  crown'd  Nature's  kings  in 
both.* 

CIV. 

"  Whither  wends  Arthur  ?"  "  Whence  comes  Lancelot  ?'' 
"  From  yonder  forest,  sought  at  dawn  of  day.'' 

''  Why  from  the  forest  ?"  "  Prince  and  jjrother,  what, 
When  the  bird,  startled,  flutters  from  the  spray. 

Makes  the  leaves  quiver?     What  disturbs  the  rill 

If  but  a  zephyr  floateth  from  the  hill  ? 

cv. 

"And  ask'st  thou  why  thy  brothers  heart  is  stirr'd 
By  every  tremor  that  can  vex  thine  own  ? 

What  in  that  forest  had'st  thou  seen  or  heard  ? 
What  was  that  shadow  o'er  thy  sunshine  tiirown  ? 

Thy  lips  were  silent, — be  the  secret  thine; 

But  half  the  trouble  it  conceal'd  was  ui/ne. 

*  Lancelot  was,  indeed,  the  son  of  »  king,  but^  dethroned  and  a  tribn^arv  o^e. 
The  popular  history  of  his  infancy  'Vili  be  tol^^m  a  subsequent  book. 


44  KING    ARTHUR. 

cvi. 

''  Did  danger  meet  thee  in  that  dismal  lair  ? 

'T  was  mine  to  face  it  as  thy  heart  had  done. 
'T  was  mine — "  ^'0  brother,"  cried  the  King,  "beware, 

The  fiend  has  snares  it  shames  not  man  to  shnn; 
Ah,  woe  to  eyes  on  whose  recoiling  sight 
Opes  the  dark  ^v^orld  beyond  the  veil  of  light ! 

CVII. 

"  Listen  to  Fate ; — till  to  his  own  loved  May 
Comes  back  Bal-Huan  in  his  amber  car,* 

The  horns  blithe  music  and  the  hound's  deep  bay, 
With  choral  joy  may  fill  Cwm-Penllafar,-}- 

On  spell-bound  ears  the  Teulu'r'sJ  song  may  fall, 

Love  deck  the  bower  and  mirth  illume  the  hall — 

CVIII. 

"  But  thou,  0  thou,  my  Lancelot,  shalt  mourn, 
And  miss  thine  Arthur  in  thy  joyless  soul ; 

In  vain  for  thee  Pencynnyd§  wind  his  horn, 
And  liquid  sunshine  sparkle  from  the  bowl ; 

Love  lose  the  smile,  and  song  the  melody : 

This  knows  my  heart — so  had  it  mourn'd  for  thee ! 

*  BAL-HuAy,  the  sun.  Those  heaps  of  stone  found  throughout  Britain  (Cru- 
giau,  or  Carneu),  were  sacred  to  the  sun  in  the  Druid  worship,  and  served  as  bea- 
cons in  his  honour  on  May  eve.  May  was  his  consecreted  month.  The  rocking- 
stones  which  mark  these  sanctuaries  were  called  amber  stones. 

f  Cvrm-Penllafar,  the  Vale  of  Melody — so  called  (as  Mr.  Pennant  suggests) 
from  the  nnjsic  of  the  hounds  when  in  full  cry  over  the  neighbouring  Kock  of  the 
Hunter — is  iu  Caernarvonshire.  If  we  place  Carduel  in  Monmouthshire,  we  must 
suppose  some  oiher  vale  to  have  the  same  name.  In  the  pronunciation  Cwm- 
Penllafar,  and  othet  Welch  words,  Uie  reader  will  have  the  goodness  to  observe, 
that  the  w  in   Welch  ig  a  vowel,  corvesponding  in  sound  to  the  double  o   (ooj 

in  ''good,"   and,  when  wu'n  the  circumile.x  (vv),  to  the  oo  in  ''mood." 
^  Teuluwr,  the  Harper,  or  \iard  of  the  Hall. 
§   Pkncynnyu— the  Head  Huntsi^an. 


BOOK     I.  45 

CIX. 

'^  Alone  I  go ; — submit ;  since  thus  the  Fates 
And  the  great  Prophet  of  our  race  ordain ; 

So  shall  we  drive  invasion  from  our  gates, 

Guard  life  from  shame,  and  Cymri  from  the  chain ; 

No  more  than  this  my  soul  to  thine  may  tell — 

Foro  ive, — Saints  shield  thee !— now  thv  hand— farewell !" 

ex. 

''  Farewell !  Can  danger  be  more  strong  than  death — 
Loose  the  soul's  liids:,  the  grave-surviving  vow  ? 

Wilt  thou  hud  fragrance  even  in  glory's  wreath, 
If  valour  weave  it  for  thy  single  brow? 

No — not  farewell !  What  claim  more  strong  than  brother 

Canst  thou  allow  ?" — ''  My  Country  is  my  Mother !''  — 

CXI. 

Answered  the  King,  and  at  the  solemn  words 

Rebuked  stood  Friendship,  and  its  voice  was  still'd ; 

As  when  some  mighty  bard  with  sudden  chords 
Strikes  down  the  passion  he  before  had  thrill'd. 

Making  grief  awe  ; — so  rush'd  that  sentence  o'er 

The  soul  it  master'd ; — Lancelot  plead  no  more, 

CXII. 

But  loosing  from  the  hand  it  clasp'd,  his  own, 
He  waved  farewell,  and  turn'd  his  face  away : 

His  sorrow  only  by  his  silence  shown — 

Thus,  when  from  earth  glides  summer's  golden  day, 

Music  forsakes  the  boughs,  and  winds  the  stream ; 

And  life,  in  deep'ning  quiet,  mourns  the  beam. 


NOTES  TO  BOOK  I. 


1    *'  While  Cymri's  dragon  from  the  Roman's  hold 

Spread  with  calm  wing  o'er  Carduel's  domes  of  gold.'^ 

Page  18,  stanza  iv. 

The  Carduel  of  the  fabliaux  is  not  easily  ascertained  :  it  is  here 
identified  with  Caerleon  on  the  Usk,  the  favourite  residence  of 
Arthur,  according  to  the  Welch  poets.  This  must  have  been  a 
city  of  no  ordinary  splendour  in  the  supposed  age  of  Arthur, 
while  still  fresh  from  the  hands  of  the  Roman ;  since,  so  late  as 
the  twelfth  century,  Giraldus  Cambrensis,  in  his  well-known  de- ' 
scription,  speaks  as  an  eye-witness  of  the  many  vestiges  of 
its  former  splendour.  "  Immense  palaces,  ornamented  with 
gilded  roofs,  in  imitation  of  Roman  magnificence,  a  tower  of 
prodigious  size,  remarkable  hot  baths,  relics  of  temples,"  &c. 
(Giraldus  Cambrensis,  Sir  R.  Hoare's  translation,  vol.  i.  p.  103.) 
Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  (1.  ix.  c.  12,)  also  mentions,  admiringly, 
the  gilt  roofs  of  Caerleon,  a  subject  on  which  he  might  be  a  little 
more  accurate  than  in  those  other  details  in  his  notable  chronicle, 
not  drawn  from  the  same  ocular  experience.  The  luxurious 
Romans,  indeed,  had  bequeathed  to  the  chiefs  of  Britain,  abodes 
of  splendour  and  habits  of  refinement  which  had  no  parallel  in 
the  Saxon  domination.  Sir  F.  Palgrave  truly  remarks,  that 
even  in  the  fourteenth  century  the  edifices  raised  in  Britain  by 
the  Romans  were  so  numerous  and  costly  as  almost  to  excel  any 
others  on  this  side  of  the  Alps.  Caerleon  (Isca  Augusta)  was 
the  Roman  capital  of    Siluria,  the  garrison  of   the  renowned 


NOTES    TO    BOOK    I.  47 

Second  or  Augustan  legion,  and  the  Palatian  residence  of  the 
Pra.>tor.  It  was  not,  however,  according  to  national  authority, 
founded  by  the  Romans,  but  by  the  mythical  Belin  Mawr, 
three  centuries  before  Caesar's  invasion.  It  is  scarcely  neces- 
sary to  observe,  that  the  dragon  was  the  standard  of  the  Cymry, 
(a  word,  by  the  way,  which  1  trust  my  Welch  readers  will  for- 
give me  for  spelling  Cymri). 

2  "With  naked  bosoms  rushed  on  .shrinkinLT  Rome." 

Page  26,  stanza  xxxvi. 

The  worthy  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  cannot  contain  his  admi- 
ration for  that  British  valour  which  enabled  Lucan  to  indulge 
the  celebrated  sneer  at  Caesar : — 

"Territa  qiisesitis  ostendit  tern;a  Britannis/' 

'^  0  admirable  !"  exclaims  Geoffrey—"  admirable  then  the  race 
of  Britons,  wdio  twice  put  to  flight  him  who  had  submitted  the 
whole  world  to  him  !"  (Lib.  iii.  cap.  3.) 

3  "A  slender  drawhridg-e  swung  from  brink  to  brink, 

Alone  gives  fearful  access  to  the  place." 

Page  28,  stanza  xliii. 

In  old  fortresses,  it  is  not  unusual  to  find  some  upper  story  oi 
a  tower  without  other  approach  than  the  kind  of  drawbridge  de- 
scribed in  the  text;  and  which,  at  the  pleasure  of  the  inmate  ol 
the  tower,  gave  or  denied  communication  with  the  opposite  bat- 
tlements. One  of  the  most  perfect  specimens  of  this  defence 
(not  more  against  an  invading  enemy  than  against  the  mutiny 
of  the  garrison)  is  to  be  seen  in  a  small  castle  in  the  kingdc^m 
of  Sardinia,  between  Lucca  and  Genoa.  The  tower  occu})iecl 
by  the  commander  has  such  a  drawbridge  for  its  sole  acceSvS. 

4  "There  sate  the  wizard  on  a  Druid  throne^ 

AVhere  sate  Duw-Iou  ere  liis  reign  was  lost." 

Page  28,  stanza  xIt. 

Duw-Iou,  (the  Taranus  of  Lucan,)  the  most  solemn  and  au- 


48  KING     ARTHUR. 

gust,  though  not  the  most  popular  of  the  Druid  divinities  an- 
swering to  the  classic  Jupiter.  Indeed,  in  the  Roman  time,  he 
took  the  name  of  Jou-pater.  The  present  Caerdydd  was  called 
lou-papan,  the  most  ancient  town  in  Siluria  (Arthur's  special 
heritage).  By  the  Cromlechs  of  Duw-Iou  is  usually  found  a 
huge  stone,  the  pedestal  or  chair  of  the  idol, — in  those  more 
corrupt  times  wdien  idols  were  admitted  into  the  sublime  creed 
of  the  Druids.  ~ 

5  "Which  Ileus  the  Guardian  taught  the  Celt  to  wield." 

Page  36,  stanza  Ixxvii. 

Heus  is  the  same  deity  as  Esus,  or  Hesus,  mentioned  in 
Lucan,  the  Mars  of  the  Celts.  According  to  the  Welch  triads, 
Heus  (or  Hu — Hu  Gadarn  ;  i.  e.  the  mighty  Guardian,  or  In- 
spector) brought  the  people  of  Cymry  first  into  this  isle,  from 
the  summer  country  called  Defrobani,  (in  the  Tauric  Cherso- 
nese) over  the  Hazy  Sea  (the  German  Ocean).  Davies,  in  his 
Celtic  Researches,  observes  that  some  commentator,  at  least  as 
old  as  the  twelfth  century,  repeatedly  explains  the  situation  of 
Defrobani  as  "that  on  which  Constantinople  now  stands." 
"  This  comment,"  adds  Davies,  "  would  not  have  been  made 
without  some  authority ;  it  belongs  to  an  age  which  possessed 
many  documents  relating  to  the  history  of  the  Britons  w^hich  are 
now  no  longer  extant." 

It  would  be  extremely  important  towards  tracing  the  origin 
of  the  Cymry,  if  authentic  and  indisputable  records  of  such  tra- 
ditions of  their  migration  from  the  East  can  be  found  in  their 
own  legions  at  an  age  before  learned  conjecture  could  avail 
itself  of  the  passages  in  Herodotus  and  Strabo,  which  relate  to 
the  Cimmerians,  and  tend  to  identify  that  people  with  our  Cym- 
rian  ancestors.  We  find  in  the  first  (1.  i.  c.  14,)  that  the  Cim- 
merians, chased  from  their  original  settlements  by  the  Nomadic 
Scythians,  came  to  Lydia,  where  they  took  Sardis  (except  the 
citadel).  In  this  account  Strabo,  on  the  authority  of  Callis- 
thenes  and  Callinus,  confirms  Herodotus. 

In  flying  from  their  Scythian  foes,  the  Cimmerians  took  their 


NOTES    TO    BOOK     I.  49 

course  by  the  sea-coast  to  Sinope,  and  the  Cimmerian  Bosphorus, 
and  as,  after  this  flight,  the  ohl  Cimmerian  league  was  broken 
up,  and  the  tribes  dispersed,  this  gives  us  the  evident  date  for 
such  migrations  as  Hu  Gadarn  is  supposed  to  head  ;  and  the 
coincidence  between  Welch  traditions  (if  genuinely  ancient)  and 
classical  authority  becomes  very  remarkable.  For  the  additional 
corroboration  of  the  hypothesis  thus  suggested,  which  is  atTorded 
by  the  identity  between  the  Cimmerians  of  Asia  and  the  ('imbri 
of  Gaul,  see  Strabo  (1.  vii.  p.  424,  the  Oxford  edition,  1807). 
It  is  curious  to  note  in  Herodotus  (I.  iv.  c.  11)  that  the  same 
domestic  feuds  which  destroyed  the  Cymrian  empire  in  Britain 
destroyed  the  Cimmerians  in  their  original  home.  While  the 
Scythians  invaded  them,  they  quarrelled  amongst  themselves 
whether  to  fight  or  fly,  and  settled  the  dispute  by  fighting  each 
other,  and  flying  from  the  enemy. 

6  "Yet  from  thy  loins  a  race  of  kings  shall  rise, 

Whose  throne  shall  shadow  all  the  soas  that  floAV." 

Page  39,  stanza  Ixxxvii. 

The  prediction  of  Diana  to  the  posterit}-  of  the  Trojan  Brutus 
(when  she  directed  him  towards  Britain)  was  somewhat  more 
magnificent  than  Merlin's  promise  to  Arthur. 

**  Sic  de  prole  tua  regos  nascentvir;  ct  ipsis 
Totius  terrse  subditus  orbis  erit.'' 

Galf.  Mon.  lib.  i.  c.  xi. 

And  frank  Gawaine 


AYhom  mirth  forever,  like  a  fairj  child, 
Lock'd  from  the  cares  of  life." 

Page  42,  stanza  xcix. 

Some  liberty,  in  the  course  of  this  poem,  will  be  taken  with 
the  legendary  character,  less  perhaps  of  the  Gawalne  of  the 
Fabliaux,  than  of  the  Gwalchmai  (Hawk  of  Battle)  of  the  Welch 
bards.  In  both,  indeed,  this  hero  is  represented  as  sage,  cour- 
teous, and  eloquent;  but  he  is  a  livelier  character  in  the  Fabliaux 
than  in  the  tales  of  his  native  land.  The  characters  of  many 
of  the  Cymrian  heroes,  indeed,  vary  according  to  the  caprice  of 

4 


50  KING    ARTHUR. 

the  poets.  Thus  Kai,  in  the  Triads,  one  of  the  Three  Diademed 
chiefs  of  battle,  and  a  powerful  magician,  is,  in  the  French  ro- 
mances, Messire  Queux,  the  chief  of  the  cooks  ;  and  in  the  Ma- 
binogion,*  he  is  at  one  time  but  an  unlucky  knight  of  more 
valour  than  discretion,  and  at  another  time  attains  the  dignity 
assigned  to  him  in  the  Triads,  and  exults  in  supernatural  attri- 
butes. And  poor  Gawaine  himself,  the  mirror  of  chivalry,  in 
most  of  the  Fabliaux  is,  as  Southey  observes,  *' shamefully  ca- 
lumniated" in  the  Mort  d'Arthur  as  the  ''false  Gawaine." 
The  Caradoc  of  this  poem  is  not  intended  to  be  identified  with 
the  hero  Caradoc  Vreichvras.  The  name  was  sufficiently  com- 
mon in  Britain  (it  is  the  right  reading  from  Caractacus)  to  allow 
to  the  use  of  the  poet  as  many  Caradocs  as  he  pleases. 

The  reader  will  bear  in  mind,  that  the  hero  of  this  poem  is 
neither  the  Arthur  of  the  Mabinogion  nor  of  GeofTry  of  Mon- 
mouth. He  is  rather  the  Arthur  of  the  Fabliaux  ;  of  fairy  legends 
and  knightly  song.  The  Author  takes  the  same  liberty  as  that 
assumed  not  only  by  the  Trouveres  and  Romanticists,  but  by 
Ariosto  and  Spencer,  viz.,  of  surrounding  the  heroes  of  the  fifth 
or  sixth  century  with  the  chivalrous  attributes  of  the  thirteenth 
or  fourteenth.  It  will  be  seen  in  Book  II.  that  he  has  also  taken 
a  license  with  chronology,  equally  common  with  the  poets  that 
suo-crest  his  models,  and  has  advanced  somewhat  the  date  of 
the  (so  called)  Saxon  Heptarchy;  making  the  Mercians  already 
the  formidable  neighbours  of  the  Cymrians.  Reasons  for  this 
will  be  assigned  hereafter.  Meanwhile  it  is  superfluous  to  ob- 
serve that  all  strict  accuracy  of  detail  would  be  out  of  character 
in  a  poem  of  this  kind,  the  very  nature  and  merit  of  which  con- 
sist in  wilful  defiance  of  mere  matter  of  fact. 

If  any  apology  be  due  for  the  classical  allusions  scattered 
throughout  the  poem,  the  Author  can  only  remind  his  readers 
that  this  mixture  of  the  Classical  wath  the  Gothic  muse,  is  the 

*  I  cannot  quote  the  Mahin'^gion  without  expressing  a  grateful  sense  of  the  ob- 
ligations Lady  Charlotte  Guest  has  conferred  upon  all  lovers  of  our  early  literature, 
in  her  invaluable  edition  and  tran!>laiion  of  that  interesting  collection  of  British 
romances. 


NOTES    TO    BOOK    I.  61 

common  characteristic  of  the  chivalrous  poetry  of  the  middle 
ages.  And  this  attachment  to  precedent  must  also  be  his  ex- 
cuse (as  the  poem  proceeds)  for  a  somewhat  liberal  indulgence 
in  the  old-fashioned  and  elaborate  form  of  simile,  prefixed  by 
the  *^As  whens"  and  "  So  whens"  favoured  by  the  earlier  poets. 
The  unwelcome  task  of  self-explanation  thus  entered  upon, 
the  Author  may  as  well  complete  his  trespass  upon  the  reader's 
indulgence,  and  allude  briefly  to  two  charges  brought  against 
the  style  or  mannerism  of  "The  New  Timon,"  since  that  of  this 
poem  may  be  equally  open  to  them ;  and  the  vindication  is  im- 
portant to  establish  his  aim  in  either  poem,  rather  to  err  by  too 
formal  a  deference  to  the  elder  schools  of  verse,  than  by  con- 
scious imitation  of  the  peculiarities  most  in  fashion  with  the 
modern.  The  first  objection,  indeed,  would  be  scarcely  worth 
noticing,  if  it  had  not  been  gravely  urged  as  an  affectation  and 
a  novelty,  viz.,  a  more  frequent  use  of  the  capital  letter  than  is 
common  at  present.  If  this  be  an  affectation,  at  least  it  is  a  vene- 
rable one;  and  the  reader  has  only  to  turn  to  the  earlier  editions 
of  our  standard  authors,  to  find  ample  and  illustrious  precedents 
for  that  mode  of  emphasis.  Take  the  following  examples,  chosen 
at  hazard  : — 

•'Ye  careful  Angels,  whom  eternal  Fate 
Ordains  on  Earth  and  human  Acts  to  wait — 
Who  turn  with  secret  Power  the  restless  Ball, 
And  bid  alternate  Empires  rise  and  fall." 

TttOMso.v— Edit.   1774. 

Open  next  the  Baskerville  edition  of  Congreve  : — 

Heartwell. — "  I  confess  you  that  are  Woman's  Asses  bear  s^reator 
Burdens;  Are  forced  to  undergo  Dressing,  Dancing,  Singing,  Sighing, 
Whining,  Rhyming,  Lying,  Grinning,  Cringing,  and  the  Drudgery  of 
Loving  to  boot." — Congreve,  Bask.  Edit.  a.  d.  1761,  i.  p.  17. 

In  these  instances  the  capital  letter  is  prefixed  to  every  sub- 
stantive. Such  was,  at  one  time,  the  established  rule,  but  it 
ceased  to  be  invariable  during  the  earlier  half  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, when  writers  of  the  same  date,  whose  books  were  pub- 
lished by  the  same  bookseller,  and  printed  by  the  same  printer, 


52  KING    ARTHUR. 

will  be  found  to  vary  the  rules  by  which  the  capital  is  employed ; 
and  it  is  remarkable,  that  where  the  arrangement  and  detail  of 
the  letter-press  were  left  solely  to  the  printer,  the  capital  is  rarely 
used  when  compared  with  those  works  either  inspected  by  the 
author  or  reprinted  exactly  according  to  the  copy  he  had  pre- 
pared for  that  purpose.  Thus,  in  Baskerville's  edition  of  Mil- 
ton, the  capital  is  but  little  more  frequent  than  it  is  in  books 
published  now-a-days ;  while,  in  his  edition  of  Shaftesbury  care- 
fully and  minutely  printed  from  the  original  documents  be- 
queathed by  the  author,  the  capital  is  lavished  as  liberally  as  it 
is  in  his  edition  of  Congreve,  to  which  the  same  observation 
applies. 

If  we  open  the  earlier  editions  of  Pope,  we  find  that,  in  com- 
parison with  his  contemporaries,  he  is  singularly  select,  and  often 
nicely  discriminating  in  his  employment  of  the  capital.*  His 
general  rule  seems  to  have  been  to  apply  it  to  the  noun  of  most 
importance  to  the  picture  or  description  the  verse  was  intended 
to  convey.  I  take  but  a  few  instances  at  hazard  from  an  early 
edition. 

"Goddess  and  Queen  to  whom  the  powers  belong 
Of  dreadful  Magick  and  commanding  Song." 

Pope's  OJyssy. 

"A  Palace  in  a  woody  vale  they  found." — Ibid. 

"Fierce  o'er  the  Pyre  by  fanning  breezes  spread." — Ibid. 

Thus,  in  the  lines  first  quoted,  magic  and  song  are  the  special 
attributes  of  the  goddess  ;  and,  as  such,  they  take  the  capital. 
Again,  the  feature  that  distinguishes  one  woody  vale  from  an- 
other is  the  palace  ;  and  the  capital  P  honours  the  distinguish- 
ing feature  of  the  scene.     The  spreading  flames  of  the  Pyre  form 

*  That  Pope  (]i(l  not  disdain  thoughtrul  attention  to  this  small,  hut  not  unim- 
portant,  detail  in  the  arts  of  polished  composition,  is  clear  to  any  one  acquainted 
with  his  MSS.  In  his  familiar  correspondence,  for  example,  he  sometimes  (pro- 
hably  from  early  habit)  misapplies  the  capital  even  to  ordinary  adjectives  in  their 
common  signification,  as  Cowley  and  Wycherly  had  done  before  him  ;  but  this  will 
never  be  found  the  case  in  the  works  he  prepared  himself  for  publication  and  re- 
vised through  the  press. 


NOTES    TO    BOOK    I.  53 

the  prominent  image  in  another  description  ;  and  so,  also,  pyre 
takes  the  large  P. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  open  any  of  the  primitive  editions 
of  our  acknowledged  classics  in  style,  prose,  or  verse,  but  what 
we  shall  find  an  use,  more  or  less  liberal,  of  so  facile  a  means 
to  intimate  a  distinction  or  mark  an  emphasis. 

Without  vindicating  the  lavish  indulgence  of  this  literal  orna- 
ment, habitual  to  our  ancestral  models,  I  venture  to  think,  at 
least,  that  in  all  correct  compositions  a  capital  is  appropriate. 

First, — to  every  substantative  that  implies  a  personification. 
Thus  war,  or  fame,  or  peace,  may  in  one  line  take  the  small 
letter  as  mere  nouns,  and  assume  a  different  sense  in  another 
line,  when  the  use  of  the  capital  indicates  that  they  are  raised 
into  personifications.* 

If  Gray  had  written 

"But  knowledge  to  their  eyes  its  ample  page 
Rich  with  the  spoils,"  &c. 

knowledge  would  have  been  properly  spelt  with  the  small  k ; 
but  as  he  wrote  her  ample  page,  and  knowledge  is  thus  intended 
to  be  a  personification,  the  capital  K  was,  in  the  earlier  editions, 
properly  employed.  'J'his  rule  is  clear.f  All  personifications 
may  be  said  to  represent  proper  names :  love  with  a  small  1 
means  but  a  passion  or  affection ;  with  a  large  L,  Love  repre- 

*  So,  in  "The  New  Timon,"  there  occurs  the  following  hne.  **Ease  on  the 
wing  and  Labour  at  the  wheel,"  and  as  it  was  facetiously  asked  by  some  critic, 
"  why  Labour  should  be  spelt  with  a  big  L  and  wheel  with  a  little  w."  Simply 
because  Labour  is  here  evidently  a  personification,  and  wheel  is  not. 

The  use  of  the  capital,  according  to  this  rule,  will  be  more  or  less  frequent,  ac- 
cording as  the  habit  of  personification  is  more  or  less  indulged  by  the  author.  This 
last  depends  not  only  on  the  inclination  of  the  author  to  regard  things  objectively, 
but  also  on  the  choice  of  his  subject.  Narrative  poets  necessarily  personify  ideas 
more  often  than  didactic  ones. 

f  It  is  invariable  with  Gray,  if  we  examine  the  editions  printed  in  his  life-time; 
and  his  authority  in  all  matters  of  scholarship  and  accurate  taste  is  perhaps,  next 
to  Milton's,  the  best  in  the  language.  In  my  use  of  the  capital  Gray  has  been  my 
model,  and  I  do  not  think  I  have  used  it  in  a  single  sentence  where  it  would  not 
have  been  used  by  him. 


54  KING    ARTHUR. 

sents  some  mythological  power  that  presides  over  the  passion  or 
affection,  and  is  as  much  a  proper  name  as  Venus,  or  Eros,  or 
Camdeo,  &c.  &c. 

Secondly — it  is  submitted  that  a  capital  may  be  properly  pre- 
fixed to  an  adjective  used  as  a  noun  :  as  the  Far,  the  Unknown, 
the  Obscure.*  The  capital  here  but  answers  the  use  of  all 
printed  inventions  in  simplifying  to  the  reader  the  Author's  in- 
tention. If  I  write  with  a  small  o,  "  He  passed  thro'  the  ob- 
scure," the  reader  naturally  looks  for  the  substantive  that  is  to 
follow^  the  adjective :  if  I  prefix  the  capital,  "  He  passed  thro' 
the  Obscure,"  the  eye  conveys  to  the  mind,  without  an  effort, 
the  author's  intention  to  use  the  adjective  as  a  substantive.  The 
capital  in  such  instances  should  be  employed  rarely,  because 
the  change  of  the  adjective  into  a  substantive  ceases  to  be  an 
elegance  when  abused  by  frequent  adoption.  The  same  rule 
holds  good  where  a  phrase  stands  in  the  sense  of  a  single  noun, 
and  implies  a  personification  distinct  from  the  ordinary  use  of 
the  words.  Thus  if  I  write  "  Nature  is  the  principle  of  life,"  I 
should  use  the  small  p  and  the  small  1,  because  the  phrase  merely 
conveys  an  assertion  ;  but  if  I  write  only  "  the  Principle  of  Life," 
meaning  thereby  to  imply  Nature,  I  should  employ  the  capital 
to  Principle  and  Life,  because  the  phrase  is  not  used  in  the  or- 
dinary sense,  but  stands  for  the  personification  of  Nature  as  an 
active  power. 

It  is  in  conformity  with  these  rules — which  I  find  it  difficult 
to  suppose  that  any  accurate  grammarian  can  dispute — that  I 
have  made  use  of  this  very  ancient,  and  very  innocent  privilege  ; 
indulging  in  but  rare  exceptions  ;  founded  on  the  same  princi- 
ple, viz.,  of  conveying  by  the  readiest  sign  possible  the  Author's 
intention,  and  calling  the  notice  of  the  reader  to  what  the  Author 
considers  a  distinction,  worth  while  to  notice,  in  the  delicate  and 
subtle  varieties  of  meaning  in  which  the  same  words  may  be 
applied. 

*  So  Pope : 

*'  Spencer  himself  affects  the  Obsolete." 

liniiat.  of  Ilor.  b.  ii. 


NOTES    TO    BOOK    I.  55 

I  will  take  but  one  instance  in  illustration  of  such  exceptions. 
If,  in  some  allusion,  I  write  "  of  Nymphs  that  wander  over  the 
fork'd  hill,"  and  I  print  the  last  two  words  as  they  are  printed 
above,  the  adjective,  in  the  ordinary  rapid  course  of  reading, 
might  seem  but  generally  and  loosely  applied  to  any  hill  over 
which  the  nymphs  wander.  If  the  initials  of  the  words  are 
printed  in  capitals,  the  '*  Fork'd  IJill,"  the  emphasis  so  con- 
cisely obtained  would  inform  any  scholar  that  I  mean  Parnassus. 
In  fine,  I  cannot  think  that  the  Author  errs  w^hen  he  employs  the 
capital  initial  to  designate  and  fix  in  some  peculiar  sense  the 
meaning  of  a  word  that,  without  it,  might  appear  used  only  in 
its  more  general  application. 

The  second  censure  to  w^hich  the  Author  of  "The  New 
Timon"  was  subjected,  is  one  that  interferes  with  a  far  more 
important  privilege  ;  a  privilege,  indeed,  absolutely  essential  to 
all  ease,  spirit,  force,  and  variety  in  narrative  composition  ;  viz. 
the  rapid  change  of  tense  from  the  past  to  the  present,  or  the 
present  to  the  past,  in  descriptions  of  movement  or  action. 
This  is  too  essential  an  element  in  narrative  not  to  be  used 
freely  and  boldly ;  and  it  has  been  so  used  by  all  English 
poets  whom  we  acknowledge  as  models  in  narrative.  We 
have  only  to  take  any  of  our  standard  narrative  poems  from 
the  shelf,  and  open  them  at  hazard,  to  find  abundant  and 
familiar  instances  of  this  necessary  license.  A  very  few^  ex- 
amples from  Milton,  Dryden,  and  Pope,  are  subjoined  in  proof 
of  this  assertion,  and  as  the  best  vindication  the  Author  can 
make  for  deliberately  and  purposely  persevering  in  a  course 
which  has  occasioned,  w^hat  he  ventures  to  call,  inconsiderate 
reproof. 

"With  these  that  never  fade  the  spirits  elect 
Bind  their  resplendant  locks,  enwreathed  with  beams, 
Now  in  h:)Ose  garlands  thick  thrown  off  "^^'^"'^ 
Then,  crowned  again,  their  golden  harps  they  took, 
Harps  ever  tuned,  that  glittering  by  their  side 
Like  quivers  hung,  and  with  preambule  sweet 
Of  charming  symphony  they  ixtroduce 
Tlieir  sacred  song  and  waken  raptures  high." 

Paradhe  Lost,  Book  iii.  from  1.  60  to  67. 


o6  KING    ARTHUR. 

In  this  single  description  the  tense  changes  three  times. 
Again — 

"  So  PRAYED  they,  innocent,  and  to  their  thoughts 
Firm  peace  recovered  soon  and  wonted  cahn  ; 
On  to  their  mo^ning^s  rural  work  they  haste, 
Amont^  sweet  dews  and  flowers,  where  any  row 
Of  fruit  trees  over  woody  reach'd  too  far 
Their  pampered  boughs,  and  needed  hands  to  check 
Fruitk'ss  embraces ;  or  they  led  the  vine 
To  wed  the  ehn.'^ 

Ibid,  book  v.  from  1.  209  to  216. 

Here  also  the  tense  changes  three  times. 
Again — 

*'  Straight  knew  him  all  the  bands 

Of  angels  under  watch,  and  to  his  state 

And  to  his  message  high  in  honour  rise, 

For  on  some  message  high  they  guessed  him  bound/^ 

Ibid,  book  v.  from  1.  288  to  291. 

Let  US  now  open  Dryden. 

"  Thus  while  he  spoke,  the  virgin  from  the  ground 
Upstarted  fresh  ;  already  closed  the  wound, 
And  unconcerned  for  all  she  felt  before, 
Precipitates  her  flight  along  the  shore  ; 
The  hell-hounds  as  ungorged  with  flesh  and  blood 
Pursue  their  prey  and  seek  their  wonted  food ; 
The  fiend  remounts  his  courser,  mends  his  pace, 
And  all  the  vision  vanisii'd  from  the  place." 

Duyden's  Theod.  and  Honor. 

Pope — not  without  reason  esteemed  for  verbal  correctness 
and  precision — far  exceeds  all  in  his  lavish  use  of  this  privilege, 
as  one  or  two  quotations  will  amply  sufiice  to  show. 

"  She  said,  and  to  the  steeds  approaching  near 
Drew  from  his  seat  the  martial  charioteer  ; 


NOTES    TO    BOOK    I.  57 

The  vigorous  Power*  the  trembling  car  ascends 

Fierce  for  revenge,  and  Diomed  attends 

The  groaning  axle  bext  beneath  the  load,"  &c. 

Pope's  Iliad^  book  v, 

"  Pierced  through  the  shoulder  first  Decopis  fell, 
Next  Eunomus  and  Thoun  sunk  to  Hell. 
Chersidamas,  beneath  the  navel  thrust. 
Falls  prone  to  earth,  and  grasps  the  bloody  dust; 
Cherops,  the  son  of  Hipposus,  was  near ; 
Uljsses  reached  him  with  the  fatal  spear, 
But  to  his  aid  his  brother  Socus  flies, 
Socus,  the  brave,  the  generous,  and  the  wise, 
Near  as  he  drew  the  warrior  thus  began,"  &c. 

Ibid. 

"  Behind,  unnumbered  multitudes  attend 
To  flank  the  navy  and  the  shores  defend. 
Full  on  the  front  the  pressing  Trojans  bear, 
And  Hector  first  came  towering  to  the  #ar, 
Phoebus  himself  the  rushing  battle  led, 
A  veil  of  clouds  involved  his  radiant  head — 
The  Greeks  expect  the  shock ;  the  clamours  rise 
From  different  parts  and  mingle  in  the  skies ; 
Dire  WAS  the  hiss  of  darts  by  heaven  flung. 
And  arrows,  leaping  from  the  bowstring,  sung  : 
These  drink  the  life  of  generous  warrior  slain — 
Those  GUILTLESS  fall  and  thirst  for  blood  in  vain." 

Pope's  Odysay. 

In  the  last  quotation,  brief  as  it  is,  the  tense  changes  six 
times. 

*  In  the  corrupt  and  thoughtless  mode  of  printing  now  in  vogue,  Power  is  of 
course  printed  with  a  small  p,  and  the  sense  of  the  clearest  of  all  English  poets 
instantly  becomes  obscure.  v 

"  The  vigorous  power  the  trembling  car  ascends." 
It  is  not  till  one  has  read  the  line  twice  over  that  one  perceives  the  power  means 
"  the  God,"  which,  when  printed  The  I'ovver,  is  obvious  at  a  glance. 


KINCt   ARTHUR. 


BOOK  11. 


ARGUMENT. 

Introductory  reflections  ;  Arthur's  absence ;  Caracloc's  suspended  epic ; 
The  deliberations  of  the  three  friends  ;  Merlin  seeks  them ;  The  trial 
of  the  enchanted  forest ;  Merlin's  soliloquy  by  the  fountain ;  The  re- 
turn of  the  kni^-hts  from  the  forest ;  Merlin's  selection  of  the  one  per- 
mitted to  join  the  King; ;  The  narrative  returns  to  Arthur  ;  The  strange 
guide  allotted  to  him ;  He  crosses  the  sea,  and  arrives  at  the  court  of 
the  Vandal;  Ludovick,  the  Vandal  King,  described;  His  wily  questions  ; 
Arthur's  answers  ;  The  Vandal  seeks  his  friend  Astutio  ;  Arthur  leavtfs 
the  court ;  Conference  between  Astutio  and  Ludovick ;  Astutio's  pro- 
found statesmanship  and  subtle  schemes  ;  The  Ambassador  from  Mercia; 
His  address  to  Ludovick ;  The  Saxons  pursue  Arthur ;  Meanwhile  the 
Cymrian  King  arrives  at  the  sea-shore ;  Description  of  the  caves  that 
intercept  his  progress ;  He  turns  inland ;  The  Idol-shrine ;  The  wolf 
and  the  priest. 


BOOK  II. 


I. 

Swift  on  the  dial  shifts  the  restless  shade, — 
Glides  swifter  still  our  memory  from  the  heart ; 

Noiseless  the  past  doth  in  the  present  fade, 
Nor  scarce  a  foot-print  to  the  sands  impart ; 

For  life's  quick  tree  the  seasons  are  so  brief, 

As  falls  the  fading,  springs  the  budding  leaf. 

II. 

If  absence  parts,  Hope,  ready  to  console, 

Whispers,  ''  Be  soothed,  the  absent  shall  return ;" 

If  death  divides,  a  moment  from  the  goal. 

Love  stays  the  step,  and  decks,  but  leaves,  the  urn. 

Vowing  remembrance ; — let  the  year  be  o'er, 

And  see,  remembrance  smiles  like  joy,  once  more ! 

III. 

In  street  and  mart  still  plys  the  busy  craft ; 

Still  Beauty  trims  for  stealthy  steps  the  bowser ; 
By  lips  as  gay  the  Hirlas  horn(^)  is  quaft; 

To  the  dark  bourne  still  flies  as  fast  the  hour, 
As  when  in  Arthur  men  adored  the  sun ; 
And  Life's  large  rainbow^  took  its  hues  from  One ! 


62  KING    ARTHUR. 

IV. 

Yet  ne'er  by  Prince  more  loved  a  crown  wa>s  worn. 
And  liad'st  thou  ventured  but  to  hint  the  doubt 

That  loA'al  subjects  ever  ceased  to  mourn, 

And  that  without  him,  earth  was  joy  without, — 

Thou  soon  had'st  joined  in  certain  warm  dominions 

The  horned  friends  of  pestilent  opinions. 

V. 

Thrice  bless'd,  0  King,  that  on  thy  royal  head 

Fall  the  night  dews;  that  the  broad-spreading  beech 

Curtains  thy  sleep ;  that  in  the  paths  of  dread. 
Lonely,  thou  wanderest, — so  thy  steps  may  reach 

The  only  shore  that  grows  the  amaranth  tree, 

Whose  wTeaths  keep  fresh  in  mortal  memory. 

VI. 

All  is  forgot  save  poetry ;  or  whether 

Haunting  Time's  river  from  the  vocal  reeds. 

Or  linked  not  less  in  luiman  souls  together 
With  ends,  v/ hich  make  the  poetry  of  deeds ; 

For  either  poetry  alike  can  shine — 

From  Hector's  valour  as  from  Homer's  line. 

VII. 

Yet  let  me  wrong  ye  not,  ye  faithful  three, 

Gawaine,  and  Carodoc,  and  Lancelot! 
Gawaine's  light  lip  had  lost  its  laughing  glee, 

And  gentle  Caradoc  had  half  forgot 
That  famous  epic  which  his  muse  had  hit  on. 
Of  Trojan  Brut — from  whom  the  name  of  Briton.'-' 

*  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  16.    I.ayamon,  in  his  Brut,  styles  the  Britons  Bndtes, 
or  Briittus;  and  Britain,  Brutlonde. 


BOOK    II.  63 


VIII. 


Therein  Sir  Brut,  expell'd  from  flaming  Troy,(^) 
Comes  to  this  isle,  and  seeks  to  build  a  city, 

Which  Devils,  then  the  Freeholders,  destroy; 
Till  the  sweet  Virgin  on  Sir  Brut  takes  pity, 

And  bids  St.  Bryan,*  hurrying  from  the  sky, 

Baptize  the  astonished  heathen  in  the  Wye ! 

IX. 

This  done,  the  fiends  at  once  disfranchised,  fled ; 

Sir  Brut  repaid  St  Bryan  by  a  chapel, 
Yv  here  masses  daily  were  for  Priam  said ; — 

While  thrice  a  week,  the  priests,  that  golden  apple 
By  which  three  fiends,  as  goddesses  disguised, 
Bewitch'd  Sir  Paris, — anathematized. 

X. 

But  now  this  epic,  in  its  course  suspended. 
Slept  on  the  shelf — (a  not  uncommon  fate  ;) 

Ah,  who  shall  tell,  if,  ere  resumed  and  ended, 
That  kind  of  poem  be  not  out  of  date  ? 

For  of  all  ladies  there  are  none  who  choose 

Such  freaks  and  turns  of  fashion,  as  the  Muse. 

XI. 

And  thou,  sad  Lancelot ;  but  there  I  hold ; 

Some  griefs  there  are  which  grief  alone  can  guess ; 
And  so  we  leave  whate'er  he  felt  untold ;    • 

Light  steps  profane  the  heart's  deep  loneliness. 
I,  too,  had  once  a  friend  in  happier  years ! 
He  fled, — he  owed, — forgot ; — Forgive  these  tears  ! — 

*  Bran,  /.  e.  St.  Bryan  (Poetice),  the  founder  of  one  of  the  three  sacred  lineages 
of  Britain,  was  the  first  introducer  of  Christianity  among  the  Cymry.   The  Welch 


64  KING  Arthur: 

XII. 

Much;  their  sole  comfort,  much  conversed  the  three 
Upon  their  absent  Arthur ;  what  the  cause 

Of  his  self-exile,  and  its  ends,  could  be ; 
Much  did  they  ponder,  hesitate,  and  pause 

In  high  debate,  if  loyal  love  might  still 

Pursue  his  wanderings,  though  against  his  will. 

XIII. 

But  first  the  awe  which  kings  command,  restrained ; 

And  next  the  ignorance  of  the  path  and  goal ; 
So,  thus  for  weeks  they  communed  and  remained; 

Till  o'er  the  woods  a  mellower  verdure  stole; 
The  bell-flower  clothed  the  river-banks;  the  moon 
Stood  in  the  breathless  firmament  of  June ; 

XIV. 

When  as  one  twilight — near  the  forest-mount 
They  sate,  and  heard  the  vesper  bell  afar 

Swing  from  the  dim  Cathedral,  and  the  fount 
Hymn  low  its  own  sweet  music  to  the  star 

Lone  in  the  west — they  saw  a  shadow  pass 

Where  silvering  shot  the  pale  beam  o'er  the  grass. 

XV. 

They  turned,  beheld  their  Cymri's  mighty  seer, 
Majestic  Merlin,  and  with  reverence  rose ; 

"  Knights,"  said  the  soothsayer,  smiling,  "  be  of  cheer 
If  yet,  alone  (the  stars  themselves  his  foes,) 

Wanders  the  King, — now,  of  his  faithful  three 

One,  Fate  permits ;  the  choice  with  Fate  must  be. 


Triads  assert  that  Bran,  tho  Blessed,  brought  over  with  him  to  Britain  two  Jews 
and  one  Arwysth  ;  whom  Welch  commentators  assure  us  was  Aristohulus,  the  dis- 
ciple of  St.  Paul. 


BOOK    II.  65 

XVI. 

"Enter  the  forest — each  his  several  way; 

Return  as  dies  in  air  the  vesper  chime ; 
The  fiend  the  forest  populace  obey 

Hath  not  o'er  mortals  empire  in  the  time 
When  holy  sounds  the  wings  of  Heaven  invite ; 
And  prayer  hangs  charm-like  on  the  wheels  of  Night. 

XVII. 

"  What  seen,  what  heard,  mark  mindful,  and  relate ; 

Here  will  I  tarry  till  your  steps  return." 
Ne'er  leapt  the  captive  from  the  prison  grate 

With  livelier  gladness  to  the  smiles  of  morn, 
Than  sprang  those  rivals  to  the  forest  gloom, 
And  its  dark  arms  closed  round  them'  like  a  tomb. 

XVIII. 

Before  the  fount,  with  though t-o'ershadowed  brow, 
The  prophet  stood,  and  bent  a  wistful  eye 

Along  its  starlight  shimmer : — "  Even  as  now," 
He  murmured,  "  didst  thou  lift  thyself  on  high, 

0  symbal  of  my  soul,  and  make  thy  course* 

One  upward  struggle  to  thy  mountain  source — 

XIX. 

"  When  first,  a  musing  boy,  I  stood  beside 

Thy  sparkling  showers,  and  ask'd  my  restless  heart 

What  secrets  Nature  to  the  herd  denied 
But  might  to  earnest  hieroj)hant  impart ; 

When,  in  the  boundless  space  around  and  o'er. 

Thought  whispered — '  Rise,  0  seeker,  and  explore  : 

*   As  Merlin  was  a  mathematician  as  well  as  a  magician,  we  may  suppose  him 

5 


66  KING     ARTHUR. 


XX. 


" '  Can  every  leaf  a  teeming  world  contain  ? 

Can  every  globule  gird  a  countless  race, 
Yet  one  death-slumber,  in  its  dreamless  reign. 

Clasp  all  the  illumed  magnificence  of  space  ? 
Life  crowd  a  grain,  from  air  s  vast  realms  effaced  ? 
The  leaf  a  world — the  firmament  a  waste  ?' 

XXI. 

"And  while  Thought  whispered,  from  thy  shining  spring 
Murmured  the  glorious  answer — '  Soul  of  Man, 

Let  the  fount  teach  thee,  and  its  struggle  bring 
Truth  to  thy  yearnings ! — whither  I  began 

Thither  I  tend ;  my  law  is  to  aspire : 

Spirit  thy  souixe,  be  spirit  thy  desire.' 

xxn. 

"  And  I  have  made  the  life  of  sjoirit  mine ; 

And,  on  the  margin  of  my  mortal  grave, 
My  soul,  already  in  an  air  divine 

Even  in  its  terrors, — starlit,  seeks  to  cleave 
Up  to  the  height  on  which  its  source  must  be — 
And  falls  again,  in  earthward  showers,  like  thee. 

XXIII. 

"  System  on  system  climbing,  sphere  on  sphere, . 

Upward  for  ever,  ever,  evermore. 
Can  all  eternity  not  bring  more  near? 

Is  it  in  vain  that  I  have  sought  to  soar? 
Vain  as  the  Has  been,  is  the  long  To  be  ? 
Type  of  my  soul,  0  fountain,  answer  me !"  ' 

•A  least  acquainted  with  the  property  of  water  to  rise  to  its  level — the  practical  ap- 
plication of  which  is  the  main  law  of  the  fountain. 


BOOK    II.  67 

xxiv. 

And  while  he  spoke,  behold  the  night's  soft  flowers, 
Scentless  to-day,  awoke,  and  bloom'd,  and  breathed ; 

Fed  by  the  falling  of  the  fountain's  showers, 

Bound  its  green  marge  the  grateful  garland  weathed ; 

The  fount  might  fail  its  source  on  high  to  gain — 

But  ask  the  blossom  if  it  soared  in  vain ! 

XXV, 

The  prophet  mark'd,  and,  on  his  mighty  brow, 

Thought  grew  resign'd,  serene,  though  mournful  still. 

Now  ceased  the  vesper,  and  the  branches  now 
Stirr'd  on  the  margin  of  the  forest  hill — 

And  Gawaine  came  into  the  starlit  space — 

Slow  was  his  step,  and  sullen  was  his  face. 

XXVI, 

"  What  saw,  what  heard  my  son  ?" — "  The  sky  and  wood, 
The  crisping  leaves  the  winds  of  winter  spared." 

A  livelier  footstep  gain'd  the  fount — and  stood, 
Blithe  in  the  starlight,  Carodoc  the  bard ; 

The  prophet  smiled  on  that  fair  face  (akin 

Poet  and  prophet)  "  Child  of  Song,  begin." 


XXVII. 

a  ^ 


I  saw  a  glowworm  light  his  fairy  lamp. 
Close  where  a  little  torrent  forced  its  way 
Through  broad  leaved  water-sedge,  and  alder  damp; 

Above  the  glowworm,  from  some  lower  spray 
Of  the  near  mountain-ash,  the  silver  song 
Of  night's  sweet  chorister  came  clear  and  strong ; 


68  KING    ARTHUR. 


xxvni. 


^-  No  thrilling  note  of  melancholy  wail ; 

Ne'er  pour'd  the  thrush  more  musical  delight 
Through  noon-day  laurels,  than  that  nightingale 

In  the  lone  forest  to  the  ear  of  Night — 
Even  as  the  light  web  by  Arachne  spun, 
From  bough  to  bough  suspended  in  the  sun 

XXIX. 

"  Ensnares  the  heedless  insect, — so,  methought 

Midway  in  air  my  soul  arrested  hung 
In  the  melodious  meshes ;  never  aught 

To  mortal  lute  was  so  divinely  sung ! 
Surely,  0  prophet,  these  the  sound  and  sign, 
Which  make  the  lot,  the  search  determines,  mine." 

XXX. 

'•'  0  self-deceit  of  man !"  the  soothsayer  sigh'd, 

"  The  worm  but  lent  its  funeral  torch  the  rav ; 

The  night  bird's  joy  but  hail'd  the  fatal  guide, 
In  the  bright  glimmer,  to  its  thoughtless  prey. 

And  thou,  bold-eyed  one — in  the  forest,  what 

Met  thy  firm  footstep?" — Out  spoke  Lancelot — 

XXXI. 

"  I  pierced  the  forest  till  a  pool  I  reached, 

Ne'er  mark'd  before — a  dark  yet  lucid  wave ; 

High  from  a  blasted  oak  the  night  owl  screeched. 
An  otter  crept  from  out  its  water-cave. 

The  owl  t-rew  silent  when  it  heard  mv  tread — 

The  otter  mark'd  my  shadow,  and  it  tied. 


BOOK    II.  69 


XXXII 


This  all  I  saw,  and  all  I  heard." — ''  Rejoice  !" 
The  enchanter  cried,  "  for  thee  the  omens  smile ; 

On  thee  propitious  Fate  hath  fix'd  the  choice ; 
And  thou  the  comrade  in  the  glorious  toil. 

In  death  the  gentle  bard  but  music  heard ; 

But  death  gave  way  when  life'>s  firm  soldier  stirr'd. 

xxxiir. 
"  Forth  ride,  a  dauntless  champion,  with  the  morn ; 

But  let  the  night  the  champion  nerve  with  prayer ; 
Higher  and  higher  from  the  heron  borne. 

Wheels  thy  brave  falcon  to  the  heavenliest  air, 
Poises  his  wings,  far  towering  o'er  the  foe, 
And  hangs  aloft,  before  he  swoops  below ', 

XXXIV. 

•^  Man,  let  the  falcon  teach  thee  ! — Now,  from  land 
To  land  thy  guide,  receive  this  crystal  ring ; 

See,  in  the  crystal  moves  a  fairy  hand, 

Still  where  it  moveth,  moves  the  wandering  King — 

Or  east,  or  north,  or  south,  or  west,  where'er 

Points  the  sure  hand,  thy  onward  path  be  there ! 

XXXV. 

"  Thine  hour  comes  soon,  young  Gawaine  !  to  the  jDort 
The  light  heart  boundeth  o'er  the  stormiest  wave ; 

And  thou,  fair  favourite  in  Gwyn-ab-Nudd's*  court. 
Whom  fairies  realms  in  every  fancy  gave ; 

Fear  not  from  glory  exiled  long  to  be. 

What  toil  to  others.  Nature  brings  to  thee." 

*  Gwyn-ab-Nudd,  the  king  of  the  faries.     He  is,  also,  sometimes  less  pleasingly 
delineated,  as  the  king  of  the  infernal  regions ;  the  Welch  I'luto — much  the  same 


70  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXXVI. 

Thus  with  kind  word,  well  chosen,  unto  each 
Spoke  the  benign  enchanter ;  and  the  twain, 

Less  favoured,  heart  and  comfort  from  his  speech 
Hopeful  conceived ;  the  prophet  up  the  plain, 

Gathering  weird  simples,  pass'd — to  Carduel  they; 

And  song  escapes  to  Arthur's  lonely  way, 

5XXVII. 

On  towards  the  ocean-shore  (for  thus  the  seer 
Enjoin'd) — the  royal  knight,  deep  musing  rode; 

Winding  green  margins,  till  more  near  and  near 
Unto  the  deep  the  exulting  river  ilow'd. 

Here  too,  a  guide,  when  reach'd  the  mightier  wave, 

The  heedful  promise  of  the  prophet  gave. 

XXXVIII. 

Where  the  sea  flashes  on  the  argent  sands, 
Soars  from  a  lonely  rock  a  snow  white  dove; 

Nor  birds  more  beauteous  to  immortal  lands 
Bore  Psyche  rescued  side  by  side  with  Love. 

Even  as  some  thought  which,  pure  of  earthly  taint, 

Springs  from  the  chaste  heart  of  a  virgin  saint. 

XXXIX. 

It  hovers  in  the  heaven,  and  from  its  wings 
Shakes  the  clear  dewdrops  of  unsuUying  seas; 

Then  circling  gently  in  slow-measured  rings, 
Nearer  and  nearer  to  its  goal  it  flees. 

And  dropping,  fearless,  on  that  noble  breast, 

Murmuring  low  joy,  it  coos  itself  to  rest. 

as,  in  the  chivalric  romance  writers,  Proserpine  is  sometimes  made  the  queen  of  the 
fairies. 


BOOK    II.  71 

XL. 

The  grateful  King,  with  many  a  soothing  word, 
And  bland  caress,  the  guileless  trust  repaid ; 

When,  gently  gliding  from  his  hand,  the  bird 

Went  fluttering  where  the  hollow  headlands  made 

A  boat's  small  harbour;  Arthur  from  the  chain 

Released  the  raft, — it  shot  along  the  main. 

XLI. 

Now  in  that  boat,  beneath  the  eyes  of  heaven, 
Floated  the  three,  the  steed,  the  bird,  the  man ; 

To  favouring  winds  the  little  sail  was  given; 
The  shore  fail'd  gradual,  dwindling  to  a  span ; 

The  steed  bent  wistfully  o'er  the  watery  realm ; 

And  the  white  dove  perch'd  tranquil  at  the  helm. 

XLTI. 

H:iply  by  fisherman,  its  owner,  left, 

Within  the  boat  were  rude  provisions  stored; 

The  yellow  harvest  from  the  wild  bee  reft. 

Bread,  roots,  dried  fish,  the  luxuries  of  a  board 

Health  spreads  for  toil ;  while  skins  and  fiasks  of  reed 

Yield  these  the  water,  those  the  strengthening  mead. 

xLiir. 
Five  days,  five  nights,  still  onward,  onward  o'er 

Light-swelling  waves,  bounded  the  bark  its  way; 
At  last  the  sun  set  reddening  on  a  shore ; 

Walls  on  the  cliff,  and  war-ships  in  the  bay ; 
While  from  bright  towers,  overlooking  sea  and  plain, 
The  Leopard-banners  told  the  Yandals'  reign. 


72  KING    ARTHUR. 

XLIV. 

Amid  those  shifting  royalties,  the  North 

Pour'd  from  its  teeming  breast,  in  tumult  driven, 

Now  to,  now  fro,  as  thunder-clouds  sent  forth 

To  darken,  burst, — and  bursting,  clear  the  heaven; 

Ere  yet  the  Nomad  nations  found  repose, 

And  order  dawn'd  as  Charlemain  arose ; 

XLV. 

Amidst  that  ferment  of  fierce  races,  won 

To  jonder  shores  a  wandering  A^andal  horde, 

Whose  chief  exchanged  his  war-tent  for  a  throne, 
And  shaped  a  sceptre  from  a  conquerer's  sword ; 

His  sons,  expeird  by  rude  intestine  broil, 

Sought  that  worst  wilderness — the  Stranger's  soil. 

XLVI. 

A  distant  kinsman,  Ludovick  his  name, 

Reign'd  in  their  stead,  a  king  of  sage  repute ; 

His  youth  had  wasted  some  few  seeds  on  fame ; 
His  age,  grown  wiser,  only  planted — fruit. 

War  stormed  the  state,  and  civil  discord  rent. 

He  shunn'd  the  tempest  till  its  wrath  w^as  spent. 

XLVII. 

Safe  in  serener  lands  he  passed  his  prime ; 

But  mused  not  vainly  on  the  strife  afar : 
Return'd,  he  watch'd — the  husbandman  of  time — 

The  second  harvest  of  rebellious  war ; 
Cajoled  the  Fjlelincjf^''''  fix'd  the  fickle  Gau^ 
And  to  the  Leute  promised  equal  law. 

The  EnKLiNRS  were  the  nobles  of  the  Teutonic  races  ;  the  Go-w  or  Gau,  the 
net  composed  of  the  union  of  clans  (Mahcua),  which  had  its  own  independent 


BOOK     II.  73 


XLVIII. 


The  moment  came,  disorder  split  the  reahu ; 

Too  stern  the  ruler,  or  too  feebly  stern ; 
The  supple  kinsman  slided  to  the  helm. 

And  trimmed  the  rudder  with  a  dexterous  turn ; 
A  turn  so  dexterous,  that  it  served  to  lling 
Both  over  board — the  people  and  the  king. 

XLIX. 

The  captain's  post  repaid  the  pilot's  task. 

He  seized  the  ship  as  he  had  cleared  the  prowj 

Drop  we  the  metaphor  as  he  the  mask : 

And,  while  his  gaping  Vandals  wondered  how, 

Behold  the  patriot  to  the  despot  grown, 

Filch'd  from  the  ^^\i,  and  juggled  to  the  throne ! 

L. 

And  bland  in  words  was  wily  Ludovick ! 

Much  did  he  promise,  nought  did  he  fulfil ; 
The  trickster  Fortune  loves  the  hands  that  trick, 

And  smiled  approving  on  her  conjuror's  skill ! 
The  promised  freedom  vanished  in  a  tax. 
And  bays,  turn'd  briars,  scourged  bewildered  backs. 

LI. 

Soon  is  the  landing  of  the  stranger  knight 

Known  at  the  court ;  and  courteously  the  king 

Gives  to  his  guest  the  hospitable  rite ; 

Heralds  the  tromp,  and  harpers  wake  the  string ; 

Rich  robes  of  minever  the  mail  replace. 

And  the  bright  banquet  sparkles  on  the  dais. 

administration,  and  chose  its  parliament  of  delegates  (called  Graven)  ;  and  the  Liti 
(whence  the  modern  German  word  Lecte),  were  the  subject  population. 


74  KING    ARTHUR. 

LII. 

Where  on  the  wall  the  cloth,  gold  woven,  glow'd, 
Beside  his  chair  of  state,  the  Vandal  lord 

Made  room  for  that  fair  stranger,  as  he  strode, 
With  a  king's  footstep,  to  the  kingly  board. 

In  robes  so  nobly  worn,  the  wise  old  man 

Saw  some  great  soul,  which  cunning  whispered  '  scan.' 

LIII. 

A  portly  presence  had  the  realm-deceiver; 

An  eye  urbane,  a  peoj)le-catching  smile, 
A  brow,  of  webs  the  everlasting  weaver. 

Where  jovial  frankness  mask'd  the  serious  guile  ; 
Each  word,  well  aim'd,  he  feathered  with  a  jest, 
And,  unsuspected,  shot  into  the  breast. 

LIV. 

Gaily  he  welcomed  Arthur  to  the  feast. 

And  press'd  the  goblet,  which  unties  the  tongue ; 

As  the  bowl  circled  so  his  speech  increast, 

And  chose  such  flatteries  as  seduce  the  young ; 

Seeming  in  each  kind  question  more  to  blend 

The  fondling  father  with  the  anxious  friend. 

LV. 

If  frank  the  prince,  esteem  him  not  the  less ; 

The  soul  of  knighthood  loves  the  truth  of  man ; 
The  boons  he  sought  't  was  needful  to  suppress. 

Not  mask  the  seeker ;  so  the  prince  began — 
"  Arthur  my  name,  from  Mel  Ynys*  I  come. 
And  the  steep  homes  of  Cymri's  Christendom. 

•  Mel  Ynys,  the  Isle  of  Honey  (sometimes  Vol  Ynys,  with  a  more  disputed  sig- 
nification), the  old  Welch  name  for  Kngland,  as  is  also  Clas  Merlin,  which,  like 
most  of  such   primitive  Welch  terms,  is  variously  construed — by  some  into  the 


BOOK    II.  75 

LVI. 

"  Five  days  ago,  in  Carduel's  hall  a  king, 
Now,  over  land  and  sea,  a  pilgrim  knight ; 

I  seek  such  fame  as  gallant  deeds  can  bring. 
And  take  from  danger  what  denies  delight; 

Lore  from  experience,  thought  from  toil  to  gain, 

And  learn  as  man  how  best  as  king  to  reign." 

LVII. 

The  Yandal  smiled,  and  praised  the  high  design ; 

Then,  careless,  questioned  of  the  Cymrian  land  : 
'  Was  earth  propitious  to  the  corn  and  vine  ? 

Was  the  sun  genial  ? — were  the  breezes  bland  ? 
Did  gold  and  gem  the  mountain  mines  conceal  ?' 
"  Our  soil  bears  manhood,  and  our  mountains  steel," 

LVIII. 

Answered  the  Briton ;  "  and  where  these  are  found, 
All  plains  yield  harvests,  and  all  mines  the  gold." 

Next  ask'd  the  Yandal,  '  What  might  be  the  bound 
Of  Cymri's  realm,  and  what  its  strongest  hold  ?' 

"  Its  bound  where  might  without  a  wrong  can  gain ; 

Its  hold  a  people  that  abhors  the  chain !" 

LIX. 

The  Yandal  mused,  and  thought  the  answer  shrewd. 

But  little  suited  to  the  listeners  by; 
So  turned  the  subject,  nor  again  renewed 

Sharp  questions  blunted  by  such  bold  reply. 
Now  ceased  the  banquet ;  to  a  chamber,  spread 
With  fragrant  heath,  his  guest  the  Yandal  led. 

"garden  of  Merlin,''  by  others  into  "  the  sea-girt  green  spot,"  &c.  &c.     Another 
name  for  England  is  Ynys  wen,  or  the  While  Island. 


76  KIXG    ARTHUR.- 

LX. 

With  his  own  hand  uiicLisp'd  the  mantle's  fold. 
And  took  his  leave  in  blessings  without  number ; 

Bade  every  angel""*'  shelter  from  the  cold, 

And  every  saint  watch  sleepless  o'er  the  sluml3er ; 

Then  his  own  chamber  sought,  and  rack'd  his  breast 

To  find  some  use  to  which  to  put  the  guest. 

Lxr. 

Three  days  did  Arthur  sojourn  in  that  court, 
And  much  he  marvelled  how  that  warlike  race 

Bowed  to  a  chief,  whom  never  knightly  sport. 
The  gallant  tourney,  or  the  glowing  chase 

Allured ;  and  least  those  glory-lighted  dyes 

Which  make  Death  lovely  in  a  warrior's  eyes. 

Lxir. 

Yet,  midst  his  marvel,  much  the  Cymrian  sees 
For  king  to  imitate  and  sage  to  praise ; 

Splendour  and  thrift  in  nicely  poised  degrees. 

Caution  that  guards,  and  promptness  that  dismay ^j, 

The  mild  demeanour  that  excludes  not  awe, 

And  patient  purpose  steadfast  as  a  law. 

LXIIT. 

On  his  part,  Arthur  in  such  estimation 

Did  the  host  hold,  that  he  proposed  to  take 
A  father's  charge  of  his  forsaken  nation, 
' '  He  loved  not  meddling,  but  for  Arthur's  sake. 
Would  leave  his  own,  liis  guest's  afiairs  to  mind.' 
An  offer  Arthur  thankfully  declined. 

*  As  the  Vandals  in  Africa  were  already  converted  to  Christianity,  we  must  pay 
Ludovick  and  his  northern  tribes  the  compliment  of  supposing  them  no  less  enlight- 
ened than  their  more  celebrated  brethren. 


•-        BOOK    II.  n 

LXIV. 

Mucli  grieved  the  Vandal  ^tliat  he  just  had  given 
His  last  unwedded  daughter  to  a  Frank, 

But  still  he  had  a  wifeless  son,  thank  heaven ! 
Not  yet  provision'd  as  beseem'd  his  rank^ 

And  one  of  Arthur's  sisters' — Uther's  son 

Smiled,  and  replied — "  Sir  king,  I  have  but  one, 

LXV. 

^'  Borne  by  my  mother  to  her  former  lord  ; 

Not  young." — "Alack !  youth  cannot  last  like  riches." 
"  Not  fair." — "  Then  youth  is  less  to  be  deplored." 

"A  witch. "'^' — "^4.//  women  till  they're  wed  are  witches! 
Wived  to  my  son,  the  witch  will  soon  be  steady !" 
''  Wived  to  your  son  ? — she  is  a  wife  already !" 

LXVI. 

0  baseless  dreams  of  man  !     The  king  stood  mute  ! 

That  son,  of  all  his  house  the  favorite  flower, 
How  had  he  sought  to  force  it  into  fruit, 

And  graft  the  slip  upon  a  lusty  dower ! 
And  this  sole  sister  of  a  king  so  rich, 
A  wife  alreadv ! — Saints  consume  the  witch. 

LXVII. 

With  brow  deject,  the  mournful  Vandal  took 
Occasion  prompt  to  leave  the  royal  guest, 

And  sought  a  friend  who  served  him,  as  a  book 
Read  in  our  illness,  in  our  health  dismist ; 

For  seldom  did  the  Vandal  condescend 

To  that  poor  drudge  which  monarchs  call  a  friend ! 

*  The  witch  Mouiige,  or  Morgana,  (historically  Anxa),  was  Arthur's  sister. 


/  8  K I N  G    A  R  T  H  U  R. 

LXVIII. 

And  yet  Astutio  was  a  man  of  worth 

Before  the  brain  had  reasoned  out  the  heart ; 

But  now  he  learned  to  look  upon  the  earth 
As  peddhng  hucksters  look  upon  the  mart ; 

Took  souls  for  wares,  and  conscience  for  a  till ; 

And  damn'd  his  fame  to  serve  his  master's  will. 

LXIX. 

Much  lore  he  had  in  men,  and  states,  and  things, 
And  kept  his  memory  mapp'd  in  prim  precision, 

With  histories,  laws,  and  pedigrees  of  kings. 

And  moral  saws,  which  ran  through  each  division, 

All  neatly  colour  d  with  appropriate  hue — 

The  history  black,  the  morals  heavenly  blue ! 

LXX. 

But  state-craft,  mainly,  was  his  pride  and  boast ; 

"  The  golden  medium"  was  his  guiding  star, 
Which  means  "  move  on  until  you  're  uppermost. 

And  then  things  can't  be  better  than  they  are !" 
Brief,  in  two  rules  he  summ'd  the  ends  of  man — 
^'  Keep  all  you  have,  and  try  for  all  you  can !" 

LXXI. 

While  these  conferred,  fair  Arthur  wistfully 
Look'd  from  the  lattice  of  his  stately  room ; 

The  rainbow  spann'd  the  ocean  of  the  sky. 
Sunshine  and  cloud,  the  glory  and  the  gloom, 

Tike  grief  and  joy  from  light's  same  sources  given ; — 

Tears  weave  with  smiles  to  form  the  bridge  to  heaven  ! 


BOOK    II.         -  79 

LXXII. 

As  such,  perchance,  his  thought,  the  snow-white  dove, 
Which  at  the  threshold  of  the  Vandal's  towers 

Had  left  his  side,  came  circling  from  above, 

Athwart  the  rainbow  and  the  sparkling  showers, 

Flew  through  the  open  lattice,  j)aused,  and  sprung 

Where  on  the  wall  the  abandoned  armour  hung; 

LXXIII. 

Hovered  above  the  lance,  the  mail,  the  crest, 
Then  back  to  Arthur,  and  with  querelous  cries, 

Peck'd  at  the  clasp  that  bound  the  flowing  vest, 
Chiding  his  dalliance  from  the  arm'd  emprize, 

So  Arthur  deem'd ;  and  soon  from  head  to  heel 

Blazed  War's  dread  statue,  sculptured  from  the  steel. 

LXXIV. 

Then  through  the  doorway  flew  the  winged  guide, 
Skimm'd  the  long  gallery,  shunn'd  the  thronging  hall, 

And,  through  deserted  posterns,  led  the  stride 
Of  its  arm'd  follower  to  the  charger's  stall ; 

Loud  neigh'd  the  destrier  at  the  welcome  clang, 

And  drowsy  horseboys  into  service  sprang. 

LXXV. 

Though  threaten'd  danger  well  the  prince  divined, 
He  deem'd  it  churlish  in  ungracious  haste 

Thus  to  depart,  nor  thank  a  host  so  kind ; 

But  when  the  step  the  courteous  thought  retraced. 

With  breast  and  wing  the  dove  opposed  his  way. 

And  warn'd  with  scaring  scream  the  rash  delay. 


80  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXVI. 

Eeluctant  yields  the  King.     Now  in  the  court 
Paws  with  impatient  hoof  the  barbed  steed ; 


freed. 


Now  yawn  the  sombre  portals  of  the  fort; 

Creaks  the  hoarse  drawbridge ; — now  the  walls  are 
Thro'  dun  woods  hanging  o'er  the  ocean  tide, 
Glimmers  the  steel,  and  srleams  the  an2;el-iruide. 

LXXVII. 

An  opening  glade  upon  the  headland's  brow 

Sudden  admits  the  ocean  and  the  day. 
Lo !  the  waves  cleft  before  the  gilded  prow, 

Where  the  tall  w^ar-ship,  towering,  sweeps  to  bay. 
Why  starts  the  King  ? — High  over  mast  and  sail 
The  Saxon  Horse  rides  ghastly  in  the  gale ! 

LXXVIII. 

Grateful  to  heaven,  and  heaven's  plumed  messenger. 
He  raised  his  reverent  eyes,  then  shook  the  rein : 

Bounded  the  barb,  disdainful  of  the  spur, 

Clear'd  the  steep  cliff,  and  scour'd  along  the  plain. 

Still,  while  he  sped,  the  swifter  wings  that  lead 

Seem'd  to  rebuke  for  sloth  the  swiftening  steed. 

LXXIX. 

Nor  cause  unmeet  for  grateful  thought,  I  ween, 

Had  the  good  King ;  nor  vainly  warn'd  the  bird, 

Nor  idly  fled  the  steed ;  as  shall  be  seen. 

If,  where  the  Vandal  and  his  friend  conferr'd, 

Awhile  our  path  retracing,  we  relate 

What  craft  deems  guiltless  when  the  craft  of  state. 


BOOK    II.  81 

LXXX. 

"  Sire,"  quoth  Astutio,  "  well  I  comprehend 

Your  cause  for  grief;  the  seedsman  breaks  the  ground 

For  the  new  plant ;  new  thrones  that  would  extend 
Their  roots,  must  loosen  all  the  earth  around ; 

For  trees  and  thrones  no  rule  than  this  more  true, 

What  most  disturbs  the  old  best  serves  the  new. 

LXXXI. 

"  Thus  all  ways  wise  to  push  your  princely  son 
Under  the  soil  of  Cymri's  ancient  stem ; 

And  if  the  ground  the  thriving  plant  had  won, 

What  prudent  man  will  plants  that  thrive,  condemn. 

Sir,  in  your  move  a  master  hand  is  seen. 

Your  well  play'd  bishop  caught  both  towers  and  queen." 

LXXXII. 

"  And  now  checkmate !"  the  wretched  sire  exclaims. 
With  watering  eyes,  and  mouth  that  watered  too. 

"  Nay,"  quoth  the  sage ;  "  a  match  means  many  games. 
Keplace  the  pieces,  and  begin  anew." 

"  You  want  this  Cymrian's  crown — the  want  is  just." 

"  But  how  to  get  it  ?" — "  Sir,  with  ease,  I  trust." 

LXXXIII. 

"  The  witch  is  married — better  that  than  burn  ; 

(A  well-known  text^ — to  witches  not  applied,) 
But  let  that  pass  : — great  sir  to  Anglia  turn. 

And  mate  your  Yandal  with  a  Saxon  bride. 

Her  dower," — Cried  Ludovick, "  The  dower's  the  thing !" 

"  The  lands  and  sceptre  of  the  Cymrian  King." 

6 


82  KING    ARTHUR. 

« 

LXXXIV. 

Then  to  that  anxious  sire  the  learned  man 
Bared  the  large  purpose  latent  in  his  speech ; 

O'er  Britain's  gloomy  history  glibly  ran ; 

Anglia's  new  kingdoms,  he  described  them  each ; 

But  most  himself  to  Mercia  he  addresses, 

For  Mercia  s  king,  great  man,  hath  two  princesses ! 

LXXXV. 

Long  on  this  glowing  theme  enlarged  the  sage, 
And  turn'd,  return'd,  and  turn'd  it  o'er  again; 

Thus  when  a  mercer  would  your  greed  engage 
In  some  fair  silk,  or  cloth  of  comely  gram, 

He  spreads  it  out — upholds  it  to  the  sun — 

Strokes  and  restrokes  it,  and  the  pelf  is  won ! 

LXXXVI. 

He  showed  the  Saxon  hungering  to  devour 

The  last  unconquer'd  realm  the  Cymrian  boasts ; 

He  dwelt  at  length  on  Mercia's  gathering  power, 
Swell'd  year  by  year,  from  Elbe's  unfailing  hosts ; 

Then  proved  how  Mercia  scarcely  could  retain 

Beneath  the  sceptre  what  the  sword  might  gain. 

LXXXVII. 

'  For  Mercia's  vales  from  Cymri's  hills  are  far, 
And  Mercian  warriors  hard  to  keep  a-iield ; 

And  men  fresh  conquer'd  stormy  subjects  are ; 
What  can't  be  held  't  is  no  great  loss  to  yield ; 

And  still  the  Saxon  might  secure  his  end. 

If  where  the  foe  had  reign'd  he  left  the  friend. 


BOOK    II.  83 

LXXXVIII. 

'  Nay,  what  so  politic  in  Mercia's  king 
As  on  that  throne  a  son-in-law  to  place  ?' 

While  thus  they  saw  their  birds  upon  the  wing 
Ere  hatched  the  egg, — as  is  the  common  case 

With  large  capacious  minds,  the  natural  heirs 

Of  that  vast  property — the  things  not  theirs  ! 

LXXXIX. 

In  comes  a  herald — comes  with  startling  news  : 
A  Saxon  chief  has  anchored  in  the  bay, 

From  Mercia's  king  ambassador,  and  sues 
The  royal  audience  ere  the  close  of  day. 

The  wise  old  men  upon  each  other  stare. 
While  monarchs  counsel^  thus  the  saints  prepare," 


u 


xc. 
Murmured  Astutio,  with  a  pious  smile. 

"  Admit  the  noble  Saxon,"  quoth  the  kmg. 
The  two  laugh  out,  and  rub  their  palms,  the  while 

The  herald  speeds  the  ambassador  to  bring ; 
And  soon  a  chief,  fair-haired,  erect,  and  tall. 
With  train  and  trumpet,  strides  along  the  hall. 

xci. 
Upon  his  wrist  a  falcon,  bell'd,  he  bore ; 

Leash'd  at  his  heels  six  bloodhounds  grimly  stalked ; 
A  broad  round  shield  was  slung  his  breast  before ; 

The  floors  reclanged  with  armour  as  he  walked ; 
He  gained  the  dais ;  his  standard-bearer  spread 
Broadly  the  banner  o'er  his  helmed  head ; 


84  KING    ARTHUR. 

XCII. 

And  thrice  the  tromp  his  blazon'd  herald  woke, 
And  hail'd  Earl  Harold  from  the  Mercian  king.(^) 

Full  on  the  Vandal  gazed  the  earl,  and  spoke : 
"  Greeting  from  Crida,  Woden's  heir,  I  bring, 

And  these  plain  words ; — '  The  Saxon's  steel  is  bare, 

Red  harvests  wait  it — Avill  the  Vandal  share  ? 

XCIII. 

"  '  Hengist  first  chased  the  Briton  from  the  vale ; 

Crida  would  hound  the  Briton  from  the  hill ; 
Stern  hands  have  loosed  the  Pale  Horse  on  the  gale ; 

The  Horse  shall  halt  not  till  the  winds  are  still. 
Be  ours  your  foeman, — be  your  foeman  shown, 
And  we  in  turn  will  smite  them  as  our  own. 

XCIV. 

"  '  We  need  allies — ^in  you  allies  we  call ; 

Your  shores  oppose  the  Cymrian's  mountain  sway ; 
Your  armed  men  stand  idle  in  your  hall ; 

Your  chiules*  rot  within  your  crowded  bay : 
Send  three  full  squadrons  to  the  Mercian  bands — 
Send  seven  tall  war-sliips  to  the  Cymrian  lands. 

xcv, 

" '  If  this  you  grant,  as  from  the  old  renown, 
Of  Vandal  valour,  Saxon  men  believe, 

Our  arms  will  solve  all  question  to  your  crown ; 
If  not,  the  heirs  you  banish  we  receive ; 

But  one  rude  maxim  Saxon  bluntness  knows — 

We  serve  our  friends,  who  are  not  friends  are  foes ! 

•  Ships  of  war. 


BOOK    II.  85 

xcv^ 

"  '  Thus  speaks  King  Crida.'  "     Not  the  manner  much 
Of  that  brief  speech  wise  Ludovick  admired ; 

But  still  the  matter  did  so  nearly  touch 
The  great  state-objects  recently  desired, 

That,  with  a  smile,  he  gulped  resentment  down, 

And  trimmed  the  hook  that  angled  for  a  crown. 

XCVII. 

Fair  words  he  gave,  and  friendly  hints  of  aid, 
And  pray'd  the  envoy  in  his  halls  to  rest ; 

And  more,  in  truth,  to  please  the  earl  had  said, 
But  that  the  sojourn  of  the  earlier  guest 

(For  not  the  parting  of  the  Cjonrian  known) 

Forbade  his  heart  too  broadly  to  be  shown. 

XCVIII. 

But  ere  a  long  and  oily  speech  had  closed, 

Astutio,  who  the  hall,  when  it  begun. 
Had  left,  to  seek  the  prince,  (whom  he  proposed. 

If  yet  the  tidings  to  his  ear  had  won 
Of  his  foe's  envoy,  by  some  smooth  pretext 
To  lull)  came  back  with  visage  much  perplext — 

xcix. 

And  whispered  Ludovick — "  The  King  has  fled  !" 
The  Vandal  stammer  d,  stared,  but  versed  in  all 

The  quick  resources  of  a  wily  head, 
That  out  of  evil  still  a  good  could  call. 

He  did  but  pause,  with  more  effect  to  wing 

The  stone  that  chance  thus  fitted  to  his  string. 


86  KING    ARTHUR. 

c. 

"  Saxon,"  lie  said,  "  thus  far  we  had  premised, 
And  if  still  wavering,  not  our  heart  in  fault. 

Three  days  ago,  the  Cymrian  king,  disguised. 
First  drank  our  cup,  and  tasted  of  our  salt, 

And  hence  our  zeal  to  aid  you  we  represt. 

Least  men  should  say,  '  the  Vandal  wrong'd  his  guest.' 


CI. 
juuy    vvi.xj.ic;    v>  c  Ductxrv,    uiic  ocixiiLo    lixc    muijiu.  xcj 


Lo,  while  we  speak,  the  saints  the  bond  release ; 
Arthur  but  now  hath  left  us — we  are  free.' 
"Arthur — the  Cymrian!"  cried  the  envoy.  "Peace; 

In  deed,  not  words,  men's  love  the  Saxons  see : 
Left  you  !  and  whither  ?     But  a  word  I  need — 
Leave  to  the  rest  my  bloodhounds  and  my  steed." 

ClI. 

Dumb  sate  the  Vandal,  dumb  with  fear  and  shame. 
No  slave  to  virtue,  but  its  shade  was  he ; 

A  tower  of  strength  is  in  an  honest  name — 
'T  is  wise  to  seem  what  oft  't  is  dull  to  be ! 

A  kingly  host  a  kingly  guest  betray ! 

The  chafing  Saxon  brook'd  not  that  delay — 

cm. 
But  tnrn'd  his  sparkling  eyes  behind,  and  saw 

His  knights  and  squires  with  zeal  as  fierce  inflamed. 
And  out  he  spoke — "  The  hospitable  law 

We  will  not  trench,  whate'er  the  guest  hath  claim'd 
Let  the  host  yield ;  forgive,  that,  hotly  stirr'd, 
His  course  I  question'd ;  I  retract  the  word. 


BOOK    II.  87 

CIV. 

"  If  on  your  hearth  he  stands,  protect ;  within 
Your  reahn  if  wandering,  guard  him  as  you  may; 

This  hearth  not  ours,  nor  this  our  realm ; — no  sin 
To  chase  our  foeman,  whatsoe'er  his  way : 

Up  spear — forth  sword !  to  selle  each  Saxon  man — 

Unleash  the  warhounds — stay  us  those  who  can !" 

cv. 
Loud  rang  the  armed  tumult  in  the  hall ; 

Rush'd  to  the  doors  the  Saxon's  fiery  band ; 
Yell'd  the  gaunt  bloodhounds  loosened  from  the  thrall ; 

Steeds  neigh'd ;  leapt  forth  the  falchion  to  the  hand ; 
Low  on  the  earth  the  bloodhounds  track'd  the  scent, 
And  where  they  guided  there  the  hunters  went. 

cvi. 
Amazed  the  Vandal  with  his  friend  debates 

What  course  were  best  in  such  extremes  to  choose ; 
Nicely  they  weigh  ; — the  Saxons  pass  the  gates  : 

Finely  refine ; — the  chase  its  prey  pursues. 
And  while  the  chase  pursues,  to  him,  whose  way 
The  dove  directs,  well  pleased,  returns  the  lay. 

CVII. 

Twilight  was  on  the  earth,  when  paused  the  King, 
Lone  by  the  beach  of  far-resounding  seas ; 

Rock  upon  rock,  behind,  a  Titan  ring. 

Closed  round  a  gorge  o'erhung  with  breathless  trees, 

A  horror  of  still  umbrage ;  and,  before, 

Wave-hollow'd  caves  arch'd,  ruinous,  the  shore. 


88  KING    ARTHUR. 

CVIII. 

Column  and  vault,  and  seaweed-dripping  dome^, 
Long  vistas  opening  through  the  streets  of  dark, 

Seem'd  like  a  city's  skeleton ;  the  homes 
Of  giant  races  vanish'd  since  the  ark 

Rested  on  Ararat :  from  side  to  side 

Moan'd  the  lock'd  waves  that  ebb  not  with  the  tide. 

CIX. 

Here,  path  forbid ;  where,  length'ning  up  the  land. 
The  deep  gorge  stretches  to  a  night  of  pine. 

Veer  the  white  wings ;  and  there  the  slacken'd  hand 
Guides  the  tired  steed ;  deeplier  the  shades  decline 

Dull'd  with  each  step  into  the  darker  gloom 

Follows  the  ocean's  hollow-sounding  boom. 

ex. 

Sudden  starts  back  the  steed,  with  bristling  mane 
And  nostrils  snorting  fear ;  from  out  the  shade 

Loom  the  vast  columns  of  a  roofless  fane. 

Meet  for  some  god  whom  savage  man  hath  made ; 

A  mighty  pine-torch  on  the  altar  glow'd 

And  lit  the  goddess  of  the  grim  abode — 

CXI. 

So  that  the  lurid  idol,  from  its  throne, 

Glared  on  the  wanderer  with  a  stony  eye ; 

The  King  breathed  quick  the  Christian  orison, 
Spurr'd  the  scared  barb,  and  passed  abhorrent  by, 

Nor  mark'd  a  figure  on  the  floor  reclined ; 

It  watch'd,  it  rose,  it  crept,  it  dogg'd  behind. 


BOOK    II.  89 

CXII, 

Three  days,  three  nights,  within  that  dismal  shrine, 
Had  couch'd  that  man,  and  hungered  for  his  prey. 

Chieftain  and  priest  of  hordes  that  from  the  Rhine 
Had  track'd  in  carnage  thitherwards  their  way ; 

Fell  souls  that  still  maintained  their  rights  of  yore. 

And  hideous  altars  rank  with  human  gore. 

cxin. 
By  monstrous  Oracles  a  coming  foe, 

Whose  steps  appal  his  gods,  hath  been  foretold ; 
The  fane  must  fall  unless  the  blood  shall  flow ; 

Therefore  three  days,  three  nights,  he  watch'd ;  behold 
At  last  the  death-torch  of  the  blazing  pine 
Darts  on  the  foe  the  lightning  of  the  shrine ! 

cxiv 

Stealthily  on,  amidst  the  brushwood,  crept 
With  practised  foot,  and  unrelaxing  eye, 

The  steadfast  Murder ; — where  the  still  leaf  slept 
The  still  leaf  stirr'd  not :  as  it  glided  by 

The  mosses  gave  no  echo ;  not  a  breath ! 

Nature  was  hush'd  as  if  in  league  w^ith  Death ! 

cxv. 

As  moved  the  man,  so,  on  the  opposing  side 
Of  the  deep  gorge,  with  purpose  like  his  own, 

Did  steps  as  noiseless  to  the  blood-feast  glide ; 
And  as  the  man  before  his  idol's  throne 

Had  watch'd, — so  watch'd,  since  daylight  left  the  air, 

A  giant  wolf  within  its  leafy  lair. 


90  KING    ARTHUR. 

CXVI. 

Whether  the  blaze  allured  or  hunger  stung, 

There  still  had  cower'd  and  crouch'dthe  beast  of  prey ; 

With  lurid  eyes  unwinking,  spell-bound,  clung 
To  the  near  ridge  that  faced  the  torchlit  way ; 

As  the  steed  pass'd,  it  rose !  On  either  side, 

Here  glides  the  wild  beast,  there  the  man  doth  glide. 

CXVII. 

But,  all  unconscious  of  the  double  foe, 

Paused  Arthur,  where  his  resting-place  the  dove 

Seem'd  to  select, — his  couch  a  mound  below ; 
A  bowering  beech  his  canopy  above : 

From  his  worn  steed  the  barbed  mail  released, 

And  left  it  reinless,  to  its  herbage-feast. 

cxviii. 
Then  from  his  brow  the  mighty  helm  unbraced, 

And  from  his  breast  the  hauberk's  heavy  load ; 
On  the  tree's  trunk  the  trophied  arms  he  placed. 

And,  ere  to  rest  the  wearied  limbs  bestow'd. 
Thrice  sign'd  the  cross  the  fiends  of  night  to  scare, 
And  gaurded  helpless  sleep  with  potent  prayer. 

cxix. 

Then  on  the  moss-grown  couch  he  laid  him  down, 
Fearless  of  night  and  hopeful  for  the  morn : 

On  Sleep's  soft  lap  the  head  without  a  crown 
Forgot  the  gilded  trouble  it  had  worn ; 

Slumbered  the  King — the  browsing  charger  stray 'd — 

The  dove,  unsleeping,  watch'd  amidst  the  shade. 


BOOK    II.  91 

cxx. 

And  now,  on  either  hand  the  dreaming  King, 

Death  halts  to  strike  the  crouching  wild  beast,  here, 

From  the  close  crag  prepares  the  rushing  spring ; 
There,  from  the  thicket  creeping,  near  and  near, 

Steals  the  wild  man,  and  listens  for  a  sound — 

Lifts  the  pale  steel,  and  gathers  for  the  bound. 

CXXI. 

But  what  befell  ?     0  thou,  whose  gentle  heart 
Lists,  scornful  not,  this  undiurnal  rhyme ; 

If,  as  thy  steps  to  busier  life  depart. 

Still  in  thine  ear  rings  low  the  haunting  chime. 

When  leisure  suits,  once  more  forsake  the  throng. 

Call  childhood  back^  and  redemand  the  song. 


NOTES  TO  BOOK  II. 


1  "  By  lips  as  gay  the  Hirlas  horn  is  quaft." 

Page  61,  stanza  iii. 

The  Hirlas,  or  drinking-horn,  (made  of  the  horn  of  a  buffalo, 
enriched  either  with  gold  or  silver),  was  not  a  vessel  peculiar 
to  the  Welch  ;  the  Scandinavian  nations  also  used  it.  The 
Hirlas  Song  of  Owen,  Prince  of  Powys,  is  familiar  to  all  lovers 
of  Welch  literature  ;  the  best  translation  of  which  I  am  aware  is 
to  be  found  in  the  notes  to  Southey's  Ma  doc. 

2  "  Therein  Sir  Brut,  expelled  from  flaming  Troy." 

Page  63,  stanza  viii. 

Caradoc's  version  of  the  descent  of  Brut  differs  somewhat 
from  that  of  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  but  perhaps  it  is  quite  as 
true.  According  to  Geoffrey,  Brut  is  great-grandson  to  iEneas, 
and  therefore  not  expelled  from  ^'-flaming  Troy."  Caradoc 
follow^s  his  own  (no  doubt  authentic)  legends,  also,  as  to  the 
aboriginal  population  of  the  island,  w^hich,  according  to  Geof- 
frey, were  giants,  not  devils.  The  cursory  and  contemptuous 
way  in  which  that  delicious  Romance  writer  speaks  of  these 
poor  giants  is  inimitable — '^  Albion  a  nemine,  exceptis  paiicis 
^igantihus  inhabit abatur.^^ — '^  Albion  w^as  inhabited  by  no- 
body except  J  indeed^  a  few  giants  V^ 


NOTES    TO    BOOK    II.  93 


"  The  vesper-bell  afar 


Swing  from  the  dim  cathedraL" 

Page  64,  stanza  xiv. 

A  cathedral  church  at  which  Arthur  was  crowned,  and  of 
which  Dubricius  was  arch  prelate,  already  existed  at  Caerlon, 
according  to  the  venerable  authorities  consulted  rather  by  poets 
than  historians. 

4  "  And  haird  Earl  Harold  from  the  Mercian  king." 

Page  84,  stanza  xcii. 

Harold  is  so  familiar  to  us  as  a  Saxon  name,  that  it  has  been 
used  as  such  without  scruple  ;  but,  in  strictness,  it  is  a  Scandi- 
navian name,  introduced  into  England  by  the  Danes, 


KING   ARTHUR. 


BOOK  III. 


ARGUMENT. 

Arthur  still  sleeps  ;  The  sounds  that  break  his  rest ;  The  war  between  the 
beast  and  the  man  ;  How  ended  ;  Tlie  Christian  foe  and  the  heathen  ; 
The  narrative  returns  to  the  Saxons  in  pursuit  of  Arthur ;  Their  chase 
is  stayed  by  the  caverns  described  in  the  preceding  book,  the  tides 
having  now  advanced  up  the  gorge  through  which  Arthur  passed,  and 
blocked  that  pathway ;  the  hunt  is  resumed  at  dawn ;  the  tides  have 
receded  from  the  gorge ;  One  of  the  hounds  finds  scent ;  The  riders  are 
on  the  track ;  Harold  heads  the  pursuit ;  The  beech  tree  ;  The  man  by 
the  water-spring ;  The  wood  is  left ;  The  knight  on  the  brow  of  the 
hill ;  Parley  between  the  earl  and  the  knight ;  The  encounter ;  Harold's 
address  to  his  men,  and  his  foe ;  His  foe's  reply;  the  dove  and  the  fal- 
con ;  The  unexpected  succour  ;  And  conclusion  of  the  fray  ;  The  nar- 
rative passes  on  to  the  description  of  the  Happy  Valley;  In  which 
the  dwellers  await  the  coming  of  a  stranger ;  History  of  the  Happy 
Valley ;  A  colony  founded  by  Etrurians  from  Fiesole,  forwarned  of  the 
destined  growth  of  the  Roman  dominion;  Its  strange  seclusion  and 
safety  from  the  changes  of  the  ancient  world ;  The  law  that  forbade 
the  daughters  of  the  Lartian  or  ruling  family  to  marry  into  other  clans  ; 
Only  one  daughter  (the  queen)  is  left  now,  and  the  male  line  in  the 
whole  Lartian  clan  is  extinct ;  The  contrivance  of  the  Augur  for  the 
continuance  of  the  royal  house,  sanctioned  by  two  former  precedents  ; 
A  stranger  is  to  be  lured  into  the  valley ;  The  simple  dwellers  therein 
to  be  deceived  into  believing  him  a  god ;  He  is  to  be  married  to  the  queen, 
and  then,  on  the  birth  of  a  son,  to  vanish  again  amongst  the  gods,  (i. 
e.  to  be  secretly  made  away  with) ;  Two  temples  at  the  opposite  ends 
of  the  valley  give  the  only  gates  to  the  place  ;  By  the  first,  dedicated  to 
Tina,  (the  Etrurian  Jove,)  the  stranger  is  to  be  admitted ;  In  the  second, 
dedicated  to  Mantu,  (the  god  of  the  shades,)  he  is  destined  to  vanish ; 
Such  a  stranger  is  now  expected  in  the  happy  valley ;  He  emerges,  led 
by  the  Augur,  from  the  temple  of  Tina ;  ^gle,  the  queen,  described ; 
Her  stranger-bridegroom  is  led  to  her  bower. 


BOOK  III. 


I. 

We  raise  the  curtain  where  the  unconscious  Kino: 
Beneath  the  beech  his  fearless  couch  had  made ; 

Here  the  fierce  fangs  prepared  their  deadly  sj^ring ; 
There,  in  the  hand  of  Murther  gleamed  the  blade ; 

And  not  a  sound  to  warn  him  from  above ; 

Where  still  unsleeping,  watch'd  the  guardian  dove  ! 

II. 
Hark,  a  dull  crash  ! — a  howling,  ravenous  yell ! 

Opening  fell  symphony  of  ghastly  sound, 
Jarring  yet  blent,  as  if  the  dismal  hell 

Sent  its  strange  anguish  from  the  rent  profound  : 
Through  all  its  scale  the  horrible  discord  ran, 
Now  mock'd  the  beast,  now  took  the  groan  of  man ; 

III. 

Wrath,  and  the  grind  of  gnashing  teeth ;  the  growl 

Of  famine  routed  from  its  red  repast; 
Sharp  shrilling  pain ;  and  furj^  from  some  soul 

That  fronts  despair,  and  wrestles  to  the  last. 
Sprang  to  his  feet  the  King ; — the  feeble  ray 
Through  the  still  leaves  just  wins  its  glimmering  way, 

7 


98  •  KING    ARTHUR. 

IV. 

And  lo,  before  him,  close,  yet  ^vanly  faint. 

Forms  that  seem  shadows,  strife  that  seems  the  sport 

Of  things  that  oft  some  holy  hermit  saint 
Lone  in  Egyptian  plains — (the  dread  resort 

Of  Nile's  dethroned  demon  gods)  hatli  \dewed; 

The  grisly  tempters,  born  of  Solitude  : — 

V. 

Coird  in  the  strong  death-grapple,  through  the  dim 
And  haggard  air,  before  the  Cymrian  lay 

Writhing  and  interlaced,  with  fang  and  limb. 
As  if  one  shape,  what  seem'd  a  beast  of  prey 

And  the  grand  form  of  Man ! — The  bird  of  Heaven 

Wisely  no  note  to  warn  the  sleep  had  given ; 

The  sleep  protected ; — as  the  Murther  sprang 
So  sprang  the  wolf, — before  the  dreamer's  breast 

Death  death  encountered ;  Murther  found  the  fang, 
The  wolf  the  steel ; — so,  starting  from  his  rest 

The  saved  man  woke  to  save !  Nor  time  was  here 

For  pause  or  caution ;  for  the  sword  or  spear ; 

VII. 

Clasp'd  round  the  wolf,  swift  arms  of  iron  draw 
From  their  fierce  hold  the  buried  fan2:s ; — on  hi<>h 

Up-ljorne,  the  baffled  terrors  of  its  jaw 

Gnash  vain ; — one  yell  howls,  hollow,  through  the  sky, 

And  dies  abruptly,  stifled  to  a  gasp, 

As  the  grim  heart  pants  crushing  in  the  grasp 


BOOK    III.  99 

VIII. 

Fit  for  a  nation's  bulwark,  that  strong  breast 

To  which  the  strong  arms  lock  the  powerless  foe ! — 

Nor  opes  the  vice  till  breath's  last  anguish  ceast ; 
'Tis  done ;  and  dumb  the  dull  weight  drops  below. 

The  kindred  form,  which  now  the  King  surveys, 

Those  arms  all  gentle  as  a  woman's,  raise. 

IX. 

The  pale  cheek  pillow'd  on  the  pitying  heart. 

He  wipes  the  blood  from  face,  and  breast,  and  limb. 

And  joyful  sees  (for  no  humaner  art 

"Which  Christian  knighthood  knows,  unknown  to  him) 

That  the  fell  fangs  the  nobler  parts  forbore. 

And,  thanks,  sweet  Virgin ! — life  returns  once  more. 

X. 

Stared  round  the  savage  man :  from  dizzy  eyes 
Toss'd  the  wild  shaggy  hair ;  and  to  his  knee, — 

His  reeling  feet — up  stagger  d — Lo,  where  lies 
The  dead  wild  beast ! — lo,  in  his  saviour,  see 

The  fellow-man,  whom ; — with  a  feeble  bound 

He  leapt,  and  snatch'd  the  dagger  from  the  ground ; 

XI. 

And  faithful  to  his  gods,  he  sprang  to  slay ;        [Ijlade  ; 

The  weak  limb  fail'd  him;  gleam'd  and  dropp'd  the 
The  arm  hung  nerveless  ; — by  the  beast  of  prey 

Murder,  still  baffled,  fell ; — Then,  soothing,  said 
Tlie  gentle  King — ''  Behold  no  foe  in  me  !" 
And  knelt  by  Hate  like  pitying  Charity. 


100  KING     ARTHUR. 

XII. 

In  suffering  man  he  could  not  find  a  foe, 

And  the  mild  hand  clasp'd  that  which  yearn'd  to  kill  I 
^'  Ha,"  gasp'd  the  gazing  savage,  "dost  thou  know 

That  I  had  doom'd  thee  in  thy  sleep  ? — that  still 
My  soul  w^ould  doom  thee,  could  my  hand  ohey  ? — 
Wake  thou,  stern  goddess — seize  thyself  the  prey!" 

XIII. 

*'  Serv'st  thou  a  goddess,"  said  the  wondering  King, 
"  Whose  rites  ask  innocent  blood  ? — 0  brother,  learn 

In  heaven,  in  earth,  in  each  created  thing, 

One  God,  whom  all  call  '  Father,'  to  discern  !" 

*'  Can  thy  God  suffer  thy  God's  foe  to  live  ?"— 

*'  God  once  had  foes,  and  said  to  man,  '  forgive !'  " 

XIV. 

Answered  the  Cymrian  !     Dream-like  the  mild  words 
Fell  on  the  ear,  as  sense  again  gave  way 

To  swooning  sleep ;  which  woke  but  with  the  birds 
In  the  cold  clearness  of  the  dawning  day. — 

Strung  by  that  sleep,  the  savage  scowl'd  around ; 

Why  droops  his  head  ?     Kind  hands  his  wounds  have 
bound  ! 

XV. 

Ix)nely  he  stood,  and  niiss'd  that  tender  foe ; 

The  wolf's  glazed  eye-ball  mutely  met  his  own  ; 
Beyond,  the  pine-])rand  sent  its  sullen  gloAV, 

Circling  blood-red  the  aAvful  altar  stone ; 
Blood-red,  as  sinks  the  sun,  from  land  afar, 
Ere  tempests  wreck  the  Amalfian  mariner  j 


BOOK     III.  101 

XVI. 

Or  as,  when  Mars  sits  in  the  House  of  Death 
For  doom'cl  Aleppo,  on  the  hopeless  Moor 

Glares  the  fierce  orlj  from  skies  without  a  breath, 
While  the  chalk'd  signal  on  the  abhorred  door 

Tells  that  the  Pestilence  is  come  !^The  pine 

Unheeded  wastes  upon  the  hideous  shrine ; 

XVII. 

The  priest  returns  not ; — from  its  giant  throne, 
The  idol  calls  in  vain  : — its  realm  is  o'er ; 

The  Dire  Religion  flies  the  altar-stone. 

For  love  has  breath'd  on  what  was  hate  before. 

Lured  bj  man's  heart,  by  man's  kind  deeds  subdued, 

Him  who  had  pardoned,  he  who  wrong'd  pursued. 

XVIII. 

Meanwhile  speeds  on  the  Saxon  chase,  behind ; — 
Baffled  at  first,  and  doubling  to  and  fro 

At  last  the  war  dogs  snort  the  fatal  wind. 

Burst  on  the  scent  which  gathers  as  they  go ; 

Day  wanes,  night  comes ;  the  star  succeeds  the  sun, 

To  light  the  hunt  until  the  quarry's  won. 

XIX. 

At  the  first  gray  of  dawn,  they  halt  before 
The  fretted  arches  of  the  giant  caves ; 

For  here  the  tides  rush  full  upon  the  shore. 

The  failing  scent  is  snatch'd  amidst  the  waves, — 

Waves  block  the  entrance  of  the  gorge  unseen ; 

And  roar,  hoarse-surging,  up  the  pent  ravine. 


102  KING     ARTHUR. 

XX. 

And  worn,  and  spent,  and  panting,  fiag  the  steeds, 
With  mail  and  man  bow'd  down;  nor  meet  to  breast 

The  hell  of  waters,  whence  no  pathwaj^  leads, 
And  which  no  phnnmet  sounds ; — Reluctant  rest 

Checks  the  pursuit,  till  sullenly  and  slow 

Back,  threatening  still,  the  hosts  of  Ocean  go, — 

XXI. 

And  the  bright  clouds  that  circled  the  fair  sun 
Melt  in  the  azAire  of  the  mellowing  sky ; 

Then  hark  again  the  human  hunt  begun, 
The  ringing  hoof,  the  hunter's  cheering  cry ; 

Round  and  around,  by  sand,  and  cave,  and  steep. 

The  doubtful  ban-dogs,  undulating,  sweep : 

XXII. 

At  kngth,  one  windeth  where  the  wave  hath  left 
The  unguarded  portals  of  the  .gorge,  and  there 

Far-wandering  halts ;  and  from  a  rocky  cleft 
Spreads  his  keen  nostril  to  the  wdiispering  air ; 

Then,  with  trail'd  ears,  moves  cowering  o'er  the  ground 

The  deep  bay  booming  breaks  : — the  scent  is  found. 

xxiir. 
Hound  answers  hound, — along  the  dank  ravine 

Pours  the  fresh  w^ave  of  spears  and  tossing  plumes ; 
On — on  ;  and  now  the  idol-shrine  obscene 

The  dying  pine-brand  tlickeringly  illumes ; 
The  dogs  go  glancing  through  the  shafts  of  stone, 
Trample  the  altar,  hurtle  round  the  throne ; 


BOOK    III.  103 

XXIV. 

Where  the  lone  priest  had  watch'd,  they  pause  awhile ; 

Then  forth,  hard-breathing,  down  the  gorge   they 
swoop; 
Soon  the  swart  woods  that  close  the  far  defile 

Gleam  Avith  the  shimmer  of  the  steel-clad  troop ; 
Glinting  thro'  leaves — noAV  bright'ning  thro'  the  glade, 
Now  lost,  dispersed  amidst  the  matted  shade. 

XXV. 

Foremost  rode  Harold,  on  a  matchless  steed, 
Whose  sire,  from  Afric  coasts  a  sea-king  bore. 

And  gave  the  Mercian,  as  his  noblest  meed, 

What  time  (then  beardless)  to  Norwegian  shore 

Against  a  common  foe,  the  Saxon  Thane  (^) 

Led  three  tall  ships,  and  loosed  them  on  the  Dane : 

XXVI. 

Foremost  he  rode,  and  on  his  mailed  breast 

Cranch'd  the  strong  branches  of  the  groaning  oak. 

Hark;  with  full  peal,  as  suddenly  supprest. 
Behind,  the  ban-dog's  choral  joy-cry  broke  ! 

Led  by  the  note,  he  turns  him  back,  to  reach. 

Near  the  wood's  marge,  a  solitary  beech. 

XXVII. 

Clear  space  spreads  round  it  for  a  rood  or  more ; 

Where  o'er  the  space  the  feathering  branches  bend, 
The  dogs,  wedg'd  close,  with  jaws  that  drip  with  gore. 

Growl  o'er  the  carcase  of  the  wolf  they  rend. 
Shamed  at  their  lord's  rebuke,  they  leave  the  feast — 
Scent  the  fresh  foot-track  of  the  idol  priest ; 


104  KING     ARTHUR. 

XXVIII. 

And,  track  by  track,  deep,  deeper  through  the  maze, 
Slowly  they  go — the  watchful  earl  behind. 

Here  the  soft  earth  a  recent  hoof  betrays ; 

And  still  a  footstep  near  the  hoof  they  find ; — 

So  on,  so  on — the  pathway  spreads  more  large, 

And  daylight  rushes  on  the  forest  marge. 

XXIX. 

The  dogs  bound  emulous ;  but,  snarling,  shrink 
Back  at  the  anger  of  the  earl's  quick  cry ; — 

Near  a  small  water  spring,  had  paused  to  drink 
A  man  half  clad,  who  now,  with  kindling  eye, 

And  lifted  knife,  roused  by  the  hostile  sounds. 

Plants  his  firm  foot,  and  fronts  the  glaring  hounds. 

XXX. 

"  Fear  not,  rude  stranger,"  quoth  the  earl  in  scorn ; 

"  Not  thee  I  seek ;  my  dogs  chase  nobler  prey. 
Speak,  thou  hast  seen  (if  wandering  here  since  morn) 

A  lonely  horseman ; — whither  wends  his  way  ?" 
"  Track'st  thou  his  steps  in  love  or  hate  ?" — "  Why,  so 
As  hawk  its  quarry,  or  as  man  his  foe." 

XXXT. 

"  Thou  dost  not  serve  his  God,"  the  heathen  said ; 

And  sullen  turn'd  to  quench  his  thirst  again. 
The  fierce  earl  chafed,  but  longer  not  delay'd ; 

For  what  he  sought  the  earth  itself  made  plain 
In  the  clear  hoof-prints ;  to  the  hounds  he  showed 
The  clue,  and,  cheering  as  they  track'd,  he  rode. 


BOOK    III.  105 

xxxii. 

But  thrice,  to  guide  his  comrades  from  the  maze, 
Rings  through  the  echoing  wood  his  lusty  horn. 

Now  o'er  waste  pastures  where  the  wild  bulls  graze, 
Now  labouring  up  slow-lengthening  headlands  borne, 

The  steadfast  hounds  outstrip  the  horseman's  flight, 

And  on  the  hill's  dim  summit  fade  from  sight. 

xxxin. 
But  scarcely  fade,  before,  though  faint  and  far. 

Fierce  Avrathful  yells  the  foe  at  bay  reveal. 
On  spurs  the  Saxon,  till,  like  some  pale  star. 

Gleams  on  the  hill  a  lance — a  helm  of  steel. 
The  brow  is  gained ;  a  space  of  level  land. 
Bare  to  the  sun — a  grove  at  either  hand ; 

XXXIV. 

And  in  the  middle  of  the  space  a  mound ; 

And,  on  the  mound  a  knight  upon  his  barb. 
No  need  for  herald  there  his  trump  to  sound ! — 

No  need  for  diadem  and  ermine  garb ! 
Nature  herself  has  crown'd  that  lion  mien ; 
And  in  the  man  the  king  of  men  is  seen. 

XXXV. 

Upon  his  helmet  sits  a  snow-white  dove. 

Its  plumage  blending  with  the  plumed  crest. 

Below  the  mount,  recoiling,  circling,  move 
The  ban-dogs,  awed  by  the  majestic  rest 

Of  the  great  foe ;  and,  yet  with  fangs  that  grin, 

And  eyes  that  redden,  raves  the  madding  din. 


106  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXXVI. 

Still  stands  the  steed ;  still,  shining  in  the  sun, 
Sits  on  the  steed  the  rider,  statue-like  : 

One  stately  hand  upon  his  havnich,  while  one 
Lifts  the  tall  lance,  disdainful  even  to  strike ; 

Calm  from  the  roar  obscene  looks  forth  his  gaze, 

Calm  as  the  moon  at  which  the  watch-dog  bays. 

XXXVII. 

The  Saxon  rein'd  his  destrier  on  the  brow 
Of  the  broad  hill ;  and  if  his  inmost  heart 

Ever  confest  to  fear,  fear  touched  it  now ; — 

Not  that  chill  pang  which  strife  and  death  impart 

To  meaner  men,  but  such  religious  awe 

As  from  brave  souls  a  foe  admired  can  draw : 

XXXVIII. 

Behind  a  quick  and  anxious  glance  he  threw, 
And  pleased  beheld  spur  midway  up  the  hill 

His  knights  and(^)  squires;  again  his  horn  he  blew. 
Then  hush'd  the  hounds,  and  near'd  the  slope  where 
still 

The  might  of  Arthur  rested,  as  in  cloud 

Rests  thunder ;  there  his  haughty  crest  he  bowed, 

XXXIX. 

And  lowered  his  lance,  and  said — "  Dread  foe  and  lord. 

Pardon  the  Saxon  Harold,  nor  disdain 
To  yield  to  warrior  hand  a  kingly  sword. 

Behold  my  numbers !  to  resist  were  vain, 
And  llight — "  Said  Arthur,  "  Saxon,  is  a  word 
From  warrior  lips  a  King  should  not  have  heard ; 


BOOK    III.  107 

XL. 

^^  And,  sootli  to  say,  when  Cymri's  knights  shall  ride 
To  chase  a  Saxon  monarch  from  the  plain, 

More  knightly  sport  shall  Cymri's  king  provide, 
And  Cymrian  tromps  shall  ring  a  nobler  strain. 

Warrior,  forsooth  !  when  first  went  warrior,  say. 

With  hound  and  horn — -God's  image  for  the  prey  ?" 

XLI. 

Gall'd  to  the  quick,  the  firey  earl  erect 
Rose  in  his  stirrups,  shook  his  iron  hand, 

And  cried — "  Alfader  !  (' )  but  for  the  respect 
Arm'd  numbers  owe  to  one,  my  Saxon  brand 

Should — but  why  words  ?  Ho,  Mercia  to  the  field  ! 

Lance  to  the  rest ! — yiQld,  scornful  Cymrian,  3'ield  1" 

XLII. 

For  answer,  Arthur  closed  his  bassinet, 

Then  down  it  broke,  the  thunder  from  that  cloud ! 
And,  even  as  thunder  by  the  thunder  met. 

O'er  his  spurr  d  steed  broad-breasted  Harold  bow'd ; 
Swift  through  the  air  the  rushing  armour  flash'd. 
And  in  the  shock  commingling  tempests  clash'd ! 

XLIII. 

The  Cymrian's  lance  smote  on  the  Mercian's  breast, 
Thro'  the  pierced  shield,  there,  shivering  in  the  hand. 

The  dove  had  stirr'd  not  on  the  Prince's  crest, 
And  on  his  destrier  bore  him  to  the  band. 

Which,  moving  not,  but  in  a  steadfast  ring. 

With  levell'd  lances  front  the  comins:  Kin«:. 


108  KING     ARTHUR. 

XLIV. 

His  shivered  lance  thrown  by,  high  o'er  his  head, 
Pluck'd  from  the  selle,  his  battle-axe  he  shook — 

Paused  for  an  instant — breathed  his  foaming  steed, 
And  chose  his  pathway  with  one  lightning  look : 

From  the  hill's  brow  extending  either  side, 

The  Saxon  troop  the  rearward  woods  denied ; 

XLV. 

These  gain'd,  their  numljers  less  the  strife  avail. 

He  jDaused,  and  every  voice  cried — "Yield,  brave  King! 
Scarce  died  the  word  ere  through  the  wall  of  steel 

Flashes  the  breach,  and  backward  reels  the  ring, 
Plumes  shorn,  shields  cloven,  man  and  horse  o'erthrown, 
As  the  armed  meteor  flames  and  rushes  on. 

XLVI. 

Till  then,  the  danger  shared,  upon  his  crest, 
Unmoved  and  calm,  had  sate  the  faithful  dove, 

Serene  as,  braved  for  some  beloved  breast 
All  peril  finds  the  gentle  hero, — Love ; 

But  rising  now,  towards  the  dexter  side 

Where  stretch  the  woods,  the  prescient  pinions  guide. 

XL  VII. 

Near  the  green  marge  the  Cymrian  checks  the  rein. 
And,  even  forgetful  of  the  dove,  wheels  round. 

To  front  the  foe  that  follows  up  the  plain  : 
So  when  the  lion,  with  a  single  bound, 

Breaks  through  Numidian  spears, — his  den  before 

He  halts,  and  roots  dread  feet  that  fly  no  more. 


BOOK    III.  109 

XLVIII. 

Their  riven  ranks  reform'd,  the  Saxons  move 
In  curving  crescent,  close,  compact,  and  slow 

Behind  the  earl ;  who  feels  a  hero's  love 
Fill  his  large  heart  for  that  great  hero  foe ; 

Murmuring  "  May  Harold,  thus  confronting  all, 

Pass  from  the  spear-storm  to  the  Golden  Hall  !"* 


XLIX. 

Then  to  his  band — ''  If  prophecy  and  sign 

Paling  men's  cheeks,  and  read  by  wizard  seers, 

Had  not  declared  that  Woden's  threatened  line, 
And  the  large  birthright  of  the  Saxon  spears. 

Were  cross'd  by  SKULDA,f  in  the  baleful  skein 

Of  him  who  dares  ^  The  Choosers  of  the  Slain. 'J 


L. 

"  If  not  forbid  against  his  single  arm 
Singly  to  try  the  even-sworded  strife. 

Since  his  new  gods,  or  Merlin's  mighty  charm, 
Hath  made  a  host,§  the  were-geld  of  his  life — 

Not  ours  this  shame ! — here  one,  and  there  a  field, 

But  men  are  waxen  when  the  Fates  are  steel'd. 


•   Walhalla. 

■\  Skulda,  the  Noma,  or  Destiny,  of  the  Future. 

i.  The  Valkyas  (in  Saxon,  Valcyrge,  Valcyrian),  the  Choosers  of  the  Slain,  who 
ride  before  the  battle,  and  select  its  viclims;  to  whom,  afterwards,  (softening  their 
character)  they  administer  in  Walhalla. 

§  Id  est — "  Have  made  him  a  match  for  a  host" — the  line  is  imitated  from  an 
old  Saxon  poem. 


110  KING    ARTHUR. 

LI. 

"  Seize  we  our  captive,  so  the  gods  command — 
But  ye  are  men,  let  manhood  guide  the  blow ; 

Spare  life,  or  but  with  life-defending  hand 
Strike — and  Walhalla  take  that  noble  foe ! 

Sound  trump,  speed  truce." — Sedately  from  the  rest 

Rode  out  the  earl^  and  Cymri  thus  addrest : — 

LII. 

"  Our  steels  have  cross'd  :  hate  shivers  on  the  shield  ; 

If  the  speech  gall'd,  the  lance  atones  the  word : 
Yield,  for  thy  valour  wins  the  right  to  yield ; 

Unstain'd  the  scutcheon,  though  resign'd  the  sword. 
Grant  us  the  grace,  which  chance  (not  arms)  hath  won : 
Why  strike  the  many  who  would  save  the  one  ?" 

LIII. 

"  Fair  foe,  and  courteous,"  answered  Arthur,  moved 
By  that  chivalric  speech,  "  too  well  the  might 

Of  Mercia's  famous  Harold  have  I  proved. 

To  deem  it  shame  to  yield  as  knight  to  knight ; 

But  a  king's  sword  is  by  a  nation  given. 

Who  guards  a  people  holds  his  post  from  heaven, 

LIV. 

"  This  freedom  which  thou  ask'st  me  to  resign 
Than  life  is  dearer ;  w^ere  it  but  to  show 

That  with  my  people  thinks  their  King ! — divine 
Through  me  all  Cymri ! — Streams  shall  cease  to  flow, 

Yon  sun  to  shine,  before  to  Saxon  strife 

One  Cymrian  yields  his  freedom  save  with  life. 


BOOK    III.  Ill 

LV. 

"  And  so  the  saints  assoil  ye  of  my  blood ; 

Return  ; — the  rest  we  leave  unto  our  cause 
And  the  just  heavens ;"   All  silent,  Harold  stood 

And  his  heart  smote  him.  Now,  amidst  that  pause, 
Arthur  look'd  up,  and  in  the  calm  above 
Behold  a  falcon  wheeling  round  the  dove ! 

LVI. 

For  thus  it  chanced ;  the  bird  which  Harold  bore 
(As  was  the  Saxon  wont(^)  whate'er  his  way. 

Had,  in  the  woodland,  slipp'd  the  hood  it  wore, 

Unmark'd;  and,  when  the  bloodhounds  bark'd  at  bay, 

Lured  by  the  sound,  had  risen  on  the  wing. 

Far  o'er  the  fierce  encounter  hovering — 

LVII. 

Till  when  the  dove  had  left,  to  guide,  her  lord. 

It  caught  the  white  plume  dancing  where  it  went ; 

High  in  large  circles  to  its  height  it  soared, 

vSwoop'd ; — the  light  pinion  foil'd  the  fierce  descent ; 

The  falcon  rose  rebounding  to  the  prey ; 

And  barred  the  refuge — fronting  still  the  way. 

LVIII. 

In  vain  to  Arthur  seeks  the  dove  to  flee ; 

Round  her  and  round,  with  every  sweep  more  near, 
The  swift  destroyer  circles  rapidly, 

Fixing  keen  eyes  that  fascinate  with  fear, 
A  moment — and  a  shaft,  than  wing  more  fleet. 
Hurls  the  pierced  falcon  at  the  Saxon's  feet. 


112  KING     ARTHUR. 

s 

LIX. 

Down,  heavily  it  fell ; — a  moment  stirr'd 

Its  fluttering  plumes,  and  roll'd  its  glazing  eye  j 

But  even  before  the  breath  forsook  the  bird, 

Even  while  the  arrow  whistled  through  the  sky, 

Rush'd  from  the  grove  that  screen'd  the  marksman's  hand 

With  yell  and  whoop,  a  wild  barljarian  band — 

LX.     , 

Half  clad,  with  hides  of  beast,  and  shields  of  horn, 
And  huge  clubs  cloven  from  the  knotty  pine ; 

And  spears  like  those  by  Thor's  great  children  borne, 
When  Ca3sar  arch'd  with  moving  steel  (^)  the  Rhine — 

Countless  they  start,  as  if  from  every  tree 

Had  sprung  the  uncouth  defending  deity ; 

Lxr. 

They  pass  the  King,  low  bending  as  they  pass ; 

Bear  back  the  startled  Harold  on  their  way; 
And  roaring  onward,  mass  succeeding  mass. 

Snatch  the  hemm'd  Saxons  from  the  King's  survey. 
On  Arthur's  crest  the  dove  refolds  its  wing ; 
On  Arthur's  ear  a  voice  comes  murmuring : 

LXIf. 

^'  Man,  have  I  served  thy  God  ?"  and  Arthur  saw 
The  priest  beside  him,  leaning  on  his  bow ; 


^'  Not  till,  in  all,  thou  hast  fulfill'd  the  law 

Thou  hast  saved  the  friend — now,  aid  to  shie 
And  as  a  ship,  cleaving  the  severed  tides. 
Eight  through  the  sea  of  spears  the  hero  rides. 


"foe ;" 
d  the 


BOOK     III.  113 

LXIIT. 

The  wild  troop  part  submissive  as  he  goes ; 

Where,  like  an  islet  in  that  stormy  main, 
Gleam'd  Mercia's  steel ;  and  like  a  rock  arose, 

Breasting  the  breakers,  the  undaunted  Thane.; 
He  doff 'd  his  helmet,  look'd  majestic  round ; 
And  dropp'd  the  murderous  weapon  on  the  ground ; 

LXIV. 

And  with  a  meek  and  brotherly  embrace 

Twined  round  the  Saxon's  neck  the  peaceful  arm. 

Strife  stood  arrested — the  mild  kingly  face, 
The  loving  gesture,  like  a  holy  charm 

Thrill'd  thro'  the  ranks :  you  might  have  heard  a  breath ! 

So  did  soft  silence  seem  to  bury  Death. 

LXV. 

On  the  fair  locks,  and  on  the  noble  brow. 

Fell  the  full  splendour  of  the  heavenly  ray ; 

The  dove,  dislodged,  flew  up — and  rested  now, 
Poised  in  the  tranquil  and  translucent  day. 

The  calm  wings  seem'd  to  canopy  the  head ; 

And  from  each  plume  a  parting  glory  spread 

LXVI. 

So  leave  we  that  still  picture  on  the  eye ; 

And  turn,  reluctant,  where  the  wand  of  Song 
Points  to  the  walls  of  Time's  long  gallery : 

And  the  dim  Beautiful  of  Eld — too  long 
Mouldering  unheeded  in  these  latter  days, 
Starts  from  the  canvass,  bright'ning  as  we  gaze. 

8 


114  KING     ARTHUR. 

LXVII. 

0  lovely  scene  which  smiles  upon  my  view, 
As  sure  it  smiled  on  sweet  Albano's  dreams ; 

He  to  whom  Amor  gave  the  roseate  hue 

And  that  harmonious  colour-wand  which  seems 

Pluck'd  from  the  god's  own  wing ! — Arcades  and  bowers, 

Mellifluous  waters  lapsing  amidst  flowers, 

LXVIII. 

Or  springing  up,  in  multiform  disport. 

From  countless  founts,  delightedly  at  play ; 

As  if  the  Naiad  held  her  joyous  court 

To  greet  the  goddess  whom  the  flowers  obey ; 

And  all  her  nymphs  took  varying  shapes  in  glee, 

Bell'd  like  the  blossom — branching  like  the  tree. 

LXIX. 

Adown  the  cedarn  alleys  glanced  the  wings 

Of  all  the  painted  populace  of  air. 
Whatever  lulls  the  noonday  while  it  sings 

Or  mocks  the  iris  with  its  plumes, — is  there — 
Music  and  air  so  interfused  and  blent. 
That  music  seems  life's  breathing  element. 

LXX. 

And  every  alley's  stately  vista  closed 

With  some  fair  statue,  on  whose  gleaming  base, 
Beauty,  not  earth's,  benignantly  repose, 

As  if  the  gods  were  native  to  the  place ; 
And  fair  indeed  the  mortal  forms,  I  ween, 
Whose  presence  brings  no  discord  to  the  scene ! 


BOOK     III.  115. 

LXXI. 

0  fair  tliej  are,  if  mortal  forms  they  be ! 

Mine  eye  the  lovely  error  must  beguile ; 
See  I  the  Hours,  when  from  the  lulled  Sea* 

Come  Aphrodite  to  the  rosy  isle, 
What  time  they  left  their  orient  halls  above, 
To  greet  on  earth  their  best  beguiler — Love  ? 

LXXII. 

Or  are  they  Oreads  from  the  Delphian  steep 
Waiting  their  goddess  of  the  silver  bow  ? 

Or  shy  Napa3aB,f  startled  from  their  sleep, 

Where  blue  Cythseron  guards  sweet  vales  below. 

Watching  as  home,  from  vanquish'd  Ind  afar. 

Comes  their  loved  Evian  in  the  panther-car  ? 

LXXIII. 

Why  stream  ye  thus  from  yonder  arching  bowers  ? 

Whom  wait,  whom  watch  ye  for,  0  lovely  band  ?  [ers. 
With  spears  that,  thyrus-like,  glance,  wreath'd  with  flow- 

And  garland  fetters,  linking  hand  to  hand. 
And  locks,  from  which  drop  blossoms  on  your  way, 
Like  starry  buds  from  the  loose  crown  of  May  ? 

LXXIV. 

Behold  how  Alp  on  Alp  shuts  out  the  scene 
From  all  the  ruder  world  that  lies  afar ; 

Deep,  fathom-deep,  the  valley  which  they  screen, 
Deep,  as  in  chasms  of  cloud  a  happy  star ! 

What  pass  admits  the  stranger  to  your  land  ? 

Whom  wait,  whom  watch  ye  for,  O  lovely  band  ? 

•  Horn  Hymn. 

f  Na.p:e]e,  ihe  most  bashful  of  all  the  rural  nymphs ;  their  rare  apparition  was 
supposed  to  produce  delirium  in  the  beholder. 


116  KING     ARTHUR. 

LXXV. 

Ages  agOj  what  time  the  barbarous  horde. 

From  whose  rough  bosoms  sprang  Imperial  Rome, 

Drew  the  slow  widening  circle  of  the  sword, 
Till  kingdoms  vanish'd  in  a  robbers  home, 

A  wise  Etrurian  Lar,  forwarn'd  ('t  was  said) 

By  his  dark  CaBre,  ( '' )  from  the  danger  fled  : 

LXXVI. 

lie  left  the  vines  of  fruitful  Fiesole, 

Left,  with  his  household  gods  and  chosen  clan, 

Intent  beyond  the  Ausonian  bounds  to  flee, 

And  Rome's  dark  shadow  on  the  world  of  man. 

So  came  the  exiles  to  the  rocky  wall 

Which,  centuries  after,  frown'd  on  Hannibal. 

LXXVII. 

Here,  it  so  chanced,  that  down  the  deep  profound 
Of  some  huge  Alp — a  stray'd  Etrurian  fell ; 

The  pious  rites  ordained  to  explore  the  ground, 
And  give  the  ashes  to  the  funeral  cell ; 

Slowly  they  gained  the  gulf,  to  scare  away 

A  vulture  ravening  on  the  mangled  clay ; 

LXXVIII. 

Smit  by  a  javelin  from  the  leader's  hand. 
The  bird  crept  fluttering  down  a  deep  defile. 

Through  whose  far  end  faint  glimpses  of  a  land, 
Sunn'd  by  a  softer  daylight,  sent  a  smile ; 

This  seen,  the  attendant  seer,  ordained  the  Lar 

To  take  the  glimmer  for  the  guiding  s!ar. 


BOOK    III.  117 

LXXIX. 

What  seem'd  a  gorge  was  but  a  vista  d  cave, 

Long-drawn  and  hollo w'd  through  the  daedal  stone ; 

Rude  was  the  path,  but  as,  beyond  the  grave, 
Elysium  shines,  the  glorious  landscape  shone. 

Broadening  and  brightening — till  their  wonder  sees 

Bloom  through  the  Alps  the  lost  Hesperides. 

LXXX. 

There,  the  sweet  sunlight,  from  the  heights  debarr'd, 
Gathered  its  pomp  to  lavish  on  the  vale ; 

A  wealth  of  wild  sweets  glittered  on  the  sward, 
Screen'd  by  the  very  snow-rocks  from  the  gale ; 

Murmured  clear  waters,  murmured  joyous  birds. 

And  o'er  soft  pastures  roved  the  fearless  herds. 

LXXXI. 

His  rod  the  Augur  waves  above  the  ground. 
And  cries,  "  In  Tina's  name  I  bless  the  soil."(''') 

With  veiled  brows  the  exiles  circle  round ; 
Along  the  rod  propitious  lightnings  coil ; 

The  gods  approve  :  rejoicing  hands  combine, 

Swift  springs  a  sylvan  city  from  the  pine. 

LXXXII, 

What  charm  yet  fails  them  in  the  lovely  place  ? 

Childhood's  gay  laugh — and  woman's  tender  smile. 
A  chosen  few  the  venturous  steps  retrace ; 

Love  lightens  toil  for  those  who  rest  the  while ; 
And,  ere  the  winter  stills  the  sadden'd  bird. 
The  sweeter  music  of  glad  homes  is  heard ; 


118  KING    ARTHUR.  ' 

LXXXIII. 

And  with  the  objects  of  the  dearer  care, 
The  parting  gilts  of  the  old  soil  are  borne ; 

Soon  Tusca's  grape  hangs  flushing  in  the  air, 
Soon  lields  wave  golden  with  the  rippling  com ; 

Gleams  on  gray  slopes  the  olive's  silvery  tree, 

In  her  lone  Alpine  child, — far  Fiesole 

LXXXIV. 

Eevives — reblooms,  but  under  happier  stars  ! 

Age  rolls  on  age, — upon  the  antique  world 
Full  many  a  storm  hath  graved  its  thunder  scars ; 

Tombs  only  speak  the  Etrurian's  language  ;* — hurFd 
To  dust  the  shrines  of  Naith  ;f — the  serpents  hiss 
On  Asia's  throne  in  lorn  Persepolis ; 

LXXXV. 

The  seaweed  rots  upon  the  ports  of  Tyre  ; 

On  Delphi's  steep  the  Pythian's  voice  is  dumb ; 
Sad  Athens  leans  upon  her  broken  lyre ; 

From  the  doom'd  east  the  Bethlem  Star  hath  come  ; 
But  Rome  an  empire  from  an  empire's  loss 
Gains  in  the  god  Rome  yielded  to  the  Cross ! 

LXXXVI. 

And  here,  as  in  a  crypt,  the  miser,  Time, 

Hoards,  from  all  else,  embedded  in  the  stone, 

One  eldest  treasure — fresh  as  when,  sublime 

O'er  gods  and  men,  Jove  thundered  from  his  throne. 

The  garb,  the  arts,  the  creed,  the  tongue,  the  same 

As  when  to  Tarquin  Cuma's  sybil  came. 

*  The  Etrurian  language  perished  between  the  age  of  A  ugustus  and  that  of  Julian. 
— Lkitch's  Mailer  on  Ancient  Art. 
\  r<aith,  the  Egyptian  goddesa. 


BOOK    III.  119 

LXXXVII. 

The  soil's  first  fathers,  with  elaborate  hands, 
Had  closed  the  rocky  portals  of  the  place  ; 

No  egress  opens  to  unhappier  lands  : 
As  tree  on  tree  so  race  succeeds  to  race, 

From  sleep  the  passions  no  temptations  draw. 

And  strife  bows  childlike  to  the  patriarch's  law ; 

LXXXVIII. 

Ambition  wri^  not ;  each  soft  lot  was  cast ; 

Gold  had  no  use ;  with  war  expired  renown ; 
From  priest  to  priest  mysterious  reverence  past ; 

From  king  to  king  the  mild  Saturnian  crown : 
Like  dews,  the  rest  came  harmless  into  birth; 
Like  dews  exhaling — after  gladdening  earth. 

LXXXIX. 

Not  wholly  dead  indeed,  the  love  of  praise — 

When  can  that  warmth  from  heaven  forsake  the  heart  ? 

The  Hister's*  lyre  still  thrill'd  with  Camsee's  lays, 
Still  urn  and  statue  caught  the  Arretian  art. 

And  hands,  least  skill'd,  found  leisure  still  to  cull 

Some  flowers,  in  offering  to  the  Beautiful. 

xc. 

Hence,  the  whole  vale  one  garden  of  delight 
Hence  every  home  a  temple  for  the  Grace ; 

Who  worships  Nature  finds  in  Arts  the  rite ; 
And  Beauty  grows  the  Genius  of  the  Place. 

Enough  this  record  of  the  happy  land ; 

Whom  watch,  whom  wait  ye  for,  0  lovely  band  ? 

*  HisTEK,  the  Etfuscan  minstrel. — Camsee,   Camese,   or  Cam(ese,  the  mytho- 
logical sister  of  Janus  (a  national  diety  of  the  Etrurians)  whose  art  of  song  is  sup- 
posed to  identify  her  with  the  Caraoena  or  music  of  the  latin  poets  — Akbetium 
celebrated  for  the  material  of  the  Etruscan  vases. 


120  KING    ARTHUR. 

XCI. 

Listen  awhile  ! — The  strength  of  that  soft  state, 
The  arch's  kej^-stones,  are  the  priest  and  king ; 

To  guard  all  power  inviolate  from  debate. 
To  curb  all  impulse,  or  direct  its  wing, 

In  antique  forms  to  mould  from  childhood  all ; — 

This  guards  more  strongly  than  the  Alpine  wall. 

XCII. 

The  regal  chief  might  wed  as  choice  inclined, 
Not  so  the  daughters  sprung  from  his  embrace, 

Law,  strong  as  caste,  their  nuptial  rite  confined 
To  the  pure  circle  of  the  Lartian  race  j 

Hence  with  more  awe  the  kingly  house  was  viewed, 

Hence  nipp'd  ambition  bore  no  rival  feud. 

XCIII. 

But  now,  as  on  some  eldest  oak,  decay 

In  the  proud  topmost  boughs  is  serely  shown ; 

While  life  yet  shoots  from  every  humbler  spray — 
So,  of  the  royal  tribe,  one  branch  alone 

Remains ;  and  all  the  honours  of  the  race 

Lend  their  last  bloom  to  smile  in  Ogle's  face.(®) 

XCIV. 

The  great  arch-priest  (to  whom  the  laAvs  assign 
The  charge  of  this  sweet  blossom  from  the  bud). 

Consults  the  annals  archived  in  the  shrine. 

And,  twice  before,  Avhen  fail'd  the  Lartian  blood, 

And  no  male  heir  ^vas  found,  the  guiding  page 

Records  the  expedient  of  the  elder  age. 


BOOK    III.  121 

xcv. 
Rather  than  yield  to  rival  tribes  the  hope 

That  wakes  aspiring  thought  and  tempts  to  strife, 
And  (lowering  awful  reverence)  rashly  ope 

The  pales  that  mark  the  set  degrees  of  life, 
The  priest  (to  whom  the  secret  only  known) 
Unlock'd  the  artful  portals  of  the  stone ; 

xcvi. 
And  watch'd  and  lured  some  wanderer,  o'er  the  steep, 

Into  the  vale,  return  for  ever  o'er ; 
The  gate,  like  Death's,  reclosed  upon  the  keep — 

Earth  left  its  ghost  upon  the  Elysian  shore. 
And  what  more  envied  lot  could  earth  provide — 
The  Hesperian  gardens  and  the  royal  bride  ? 

XCVII. 

A  priestly  tale  the  simple  flock  deceived : 

The  gods  had  care  of  their  Tagetian  child !  (^) 

The  nuptial  garland  for  a  god  they  weaved ; 
A  god  himself  U23on  the  maid  had  smiled ; 

A  god  himself  renewed  the  race  divine. 

And  gave  new  monarchs  to  the  Lartian  line. 

XCVIII. 

Yet  short,  alas,  the  incense  of  delight 

That  lull'd  the  new-found  Ammon  of  the  Hour ; 

Like  love's  own  star,  upon  the  verge  of  night. 
Trembled  the  torch  that  lit  the  bridal  bower ; 

Soon  as  a  son  was  born — his  mission  o'er — 

The  stranger  vanish'd  to  his  gods  once  more. 


122  KING    ARTHUR. 

XCIX. 

Two  temples  closed  the  boundaries  of  the  place, 
One  (vow'd  to  Tina)  in  its  walls  conceal'd 

The  granite-portals,  by  the  former  race 
So  deftly  fashion'd, — not  a  chink  reveal'd 

Where  (twice  unbarr  d  in  all  the  ages  flown) 

The  stonj^  donjon  mask'd  the  door  of  stone. 

c. 
The  fane  of  Mantu*  form'd  the  opposing  bound 

Of  the  long  valley ;  where  the  surplus  wave 
Of  the  main  stream  a  gloomy  outlet  found, 

Split  on  sharp  rocks  beneath  a  night  of  cave, 
And  there,  in  torrents,  down  some  lost  ravine 
Where  Alps  took  root — fell  heard  but  never  seen. 

CI. 

Right  o'er  this  cave  the  Death-Power's  temple  rose ; 

The  cave's  dark  vault  was  curtain'  by  the  shrine ; 
Here  by  the  priest  (the  sacred  scrolls  depose) 

Was  led  the  bridegroom  when  renewed  the  line ; 
At  night,  that  shrine  his  steps  unprescient  trod — 
And  morning  came,  and  earth  had  lost  her  god ! 

CII. 

Nine  days  had  now  the  Augur  to  the  flock 

Announced  the  coming  of  the  heavenly  spouse ; 

Nine  days  his  steps  had  wandered  through  the  rock, 
And  his  eye  watched  through  unfamiliar  boughs, 

And  not  a  foot-fall  in  those  rugged  ways ! 

The  lone  Alps  wearied  on  his  lonely  gaze — 

*  Mantu,  or  Mandu,  the  Etrurian  God  of  the  Shades.     Fane  is  a  purely  Etrus- 
can word. 


BOOK    III.  123 

cm. 

But  now  this  day  (the  tenth"''')  the  signal  torch 
Streams  from  the  temple ;  the  mysterious  swell 

Of  long-drawn  music  peals  from  aisle  to  porch  : — 
He  leaves  the  bright  hall  where  the  j:Esarsf  dwell. 

He  comes,  o'er  flowers  and  fountains  to  preside, 

He  comes,  the  god-spouse  to  the  mortal  bride — 

CIV. 

He  comes,  for  whom  ye  watch'd,  0  lovely  band, 
Scatter  your  flowers  before  his  welcome  feet ! 

Lo,  where  the  temple's  holy  gates  expand. 

Haste,  0  ye  nymphs,  the  bright'ning  steps  to  meet ! 

Why  start  ye  back  ? — What  though  the  blaze  of  steel 

The  form  of  Mars,  the  expanding  gates  reveal — 

cv. 

The  face,  no  helmet  crowns  with  war,  displays 
Not  that  fierce  god  from  whom  Etruria  fled ; 

Cull  from  far  softer  legends  while  ye  gaze, 

Not  there  the  aspect  mortal  maid  should  dread ! 

Have  ye  no  songs  from  kindred  Castaly 

Of  that  bright  wanderer  from  the  OlympianJ  sky, 

CVI, 

When  in  Arcadian  dells  his  silver  lute 

Hush'd  in  delight  the  nymph  and  breathless  fawn  ? 
Or  are  your  cold  Etrurian  minstrels  mute 

Of  him  whom  Syria  worshipp'd  as  the  Dawn 
And  Greece  as  fair  Adonis  ?     Hail,  0  hail ! 
Scatter  your  flowers,  and  welcome  to  the  vale ! 

*  Ten  was  a  sacred  number  of  the  Etrurians,  so  also  was  twelve, 
•j-  ^SARS,  the  name  given  culkdively  to  the  deities. 

Suet.  Aug.  97.     Diu.  Cass,  xxvi.  p.  589. 
^  Apollo. 


124  KING    ARTHUR. 

evil. 

Wondering  the  stranger  moves  !     That  fairy  land, 
Those  forms  of  dark  yet  lustrous  loveliness,  (^^) 

That  solemn  seer,  who  leads  him  by  the  hand ; 
The  tongue  unknown,  the  joy  he  cannot  guess, 

Blend  in  one  marvel  every  sound  and  sight ; 

And  in  the  strangeness  doubles  the  delight. 

CVIII. 

Young  ^gle  sits  within  her  palace  bower, 

She  hears  the  cymbals  clashing  from  afar — 

So  Ormuzd's  music  welcomed  in  the  hour 
When  the  sun  hastened  to  his  morning-star. 

Smile,  Star  of  Morn — he  cometh  from  above ! 

And  twilight  melteth  round  the  steps  of  Love. 

CIX. 

Save  the  gray  Augur  (since  the  unconscious  child 
Sprang  to  the  last  kiss  of  her  dying  sire) 

Those  eyes  by  man's  rude  presence  undefiled. 
Had  deepened  into  woman's.     As  a  lyre 

Hung  on  unwitnessed  boughs,  amidst  the  shade, 

And  but  to  air  her  soul  its  music  made. 

ex. 

Fair  was  her  prison,  walled  with  woven  flowers, 
In  a  soft  isle  embraced  by  softest  waters. 

Linnet  and  lark  the  sentries  to  the  towers. 
And  for  the  guard  Etruria's  infant  daughters ; 

But  stronger  far  than  walls,  the  antique  law, 

And  more  than  hosts,  religion's  shadowy  awe. 


BOOK    III.  125 

CXI. 

Thus  lone,  thus  reverenced,  the  young  virgin  grew 
Into  the  age,  when  on  the  heart's  calm  wave 

The  light  winds  tremble,  and  emotions  new 
Steal  to  the  peace  departing  childhood  gave; 

When  for  the  vague  Beyond  the  captive  pines, 

And  the  soul  misses — what  it  scarce  divines, 

CXII. 

Lo  where  she  sits — (and  blossoms  arch  the  dome) 
Girt  by  young  handmaids ! — Near  and  nearer  swelling 

The  cymbals  sound  before  the  steps  that  come 
O'er  rose  and  hayacinth  to  the  bridal  dwelling ; 

And  clear  and  loud  the  summer  air  along 

From  virgin  voices  floats  the  choral  song. 

CXIII. 

Lo  where  the  sacred  talismans  diffuse  (") 

Their  fragrant  charms  against  the  Evil  Powers ; 

Lo  where  young  hands  the  consecrated  dews 

From  cusped  vervain  sprinkle  round  the  flowers, 

And  o'er  the  robe(^^)  with  broidered  palm-leaves  sown. 

That  decks  the  daughter  of  the  peaceful  throne ! 

CXIV. 

Lo,  on  those  locks  of  night  the  myrtle  crown ! 

Lo  where  the  heart  beats  quick  beneath  the  veil ; 
Lo  where  the  lids,  cast  tremulously  down. 

Cloud  stars  which  Eros  as  his  own  might  hail ; 
Oh  lovelier  than  Endymion's  loveliest  dream, 
Joy  to  the  heart  on  which  those  eyes  shall  beam ! 


126  KING    ARTHUR. 

cxv. 

The  bark  comes  bounding  to  the  islet  shore, 
The  trelKced  gates  fly  back ;  the  footsteps  fall 

Through  jasmined  galleries  on  the  threshold  floor; 
And  in  the  Heart-Enchainer's  golden  thrall, 

There,  spell-bound  halt ; — So,  first  since  youth  began 

Her  eyes  meet  youth  in  the  charm'd  eyes  of  man ! 

CXVT. 

And  there  Art's  two  opposed  Ideals  rest ; 

There  the  twin  flowers  of  the  old  world  bloom  forth 
The  classic  symbol  of  the  gentle  West, 

And  the  bold  type  of  the  chivalric  North. 
What  trial  waits  thee,  Cymrian,  sharper  here 
Than  the  wolfs  death-fang  or  the  Saxon's  spear  ? 

CXVII. 

But  would  ye  learn  how  he  we  left  afar. 
Girt  by  the  stormy  people  of  the  wild. 

Came  to  the  confines  of  the  Hesperus  Star, 
And  the  soft  gardens  of  the  Etrurian  child  ? 

Would  ye  yet  lingering  in  the  wondrous  vale, 

Learn  what  time  spares  if  sorrow  can  assail? 

CXVIII. 

What  there,  forgetful  of  the  vanish'd  dove, 
(Lost  at  those  portals)  did  the  King  befall ; 

Pause  till  the  hand  has  tuned  the  harp  to  love. 
And  notes  that  bring  young  listeners  to  the  hall ; 

And  he  whose  sires  in  Cymri  reign'd,  shall  sing 

How  Tusca's  daughter  loved  the  Cymrian  King. 


NOTES  TO  BOOK  III. 


The  Saxon  Thane 


Led  three  tall  ships,  and  loosed  them  on  the  Dane." 

Page  103,  stanza  xxv. 

Harold  is  called  both  Earl  and  Thane  ;  in  fact,  though  the 
names  imply  different  degrees  of  rank ;  an  Earl  was  a  Thane 
(thegn)  though  a  Thane  was  not  necessarily  an  Earl.  The  word 
"  Thane,"  appears  applied  by  Saxon  poets  indiscriminately  to 
those  possessed  of  superior  dignity.  Thus,  Csedmon  calls  the 
angels  Thanes — 

"  The  glory-fast  Thegns 
Praised  the  King.'' 

Shauon  Tuuner's  Tran&lation  from  Csedmon,  ^ng. 
iSaxo?is,  vol.  i.  p.  386; 

and  in  the  two  MSS.  of  Layamon's  Brut,  (copies  of  which  Sir 
F.  Madden  has  annexed  to  a  translation  that,  for  the  first  time, 
makes  the  public  acquainted  with  a  poem  that  has  much  higher 
claims  to  our  admiration  than  mere  antiquity,)  knight  and  Thane 
seem  to  have  borne  much  the  same  general  signification,  knight 
(or  cniht)  in  the  one  being  often  Thegn  in  the  other.* 

*  These  thanes  were  also  known  as  knights."  (PAXcnAVE's  Commonwealth, 
part  i.  p.  578);  this,  however,  refers  to  a  later  period  than  that  of  Arthur:  originally 
cniht  meant  a  youth,  and  is  used  in  that  sense  by  Caedmon.  See  Sharon  Turner's 
Anglo-Sa.xons,  vol.  iii.  p.  126. 


128  KINGARTHTJE. 

2  "And  pleased,  beheld  spur  midway  up  the  hill, 
His  knights  and  squires." 

Page  106,  stanza  xxxviii. 

It  need  scarcely  be  observed,  that  the  title  of  knight,*  as  it  is 
now  understood,  is  very  incorrectly  given  to  the  followers  of  the 
Heathen  Harold  (or,  indeed,  in  an  age  so  early,  to  the  Christian 
Arthur  himself.)  It  may  be  remarked,  however,  that  when 
Harold  speaks  in  his  own  person,  he  does  not  lay  claim  to  the 
title.  Nor  were  heralds  (so  freely  introduced  in  the  poem)  yet 
known.  They  do  not  appear  in  England,  under  that  name  at 
least,  till  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  But  those  accustomed  to 
the  delightful  anachronisms  of  a  similar  kind,  both  in  the  ro- 
mantic lays  and  the  heroic  poems  of  chivalry,  will  require  no 
apology  for  what,  while  most  departing  from  the  costume  of 
Arthur's  historical  day,  does  in  truth  adhere  strictly  to  the  man- 
ners of  the  time  in  which  Arthur  took  his  poetical  existence,  and 
was  re-created  by  knightly  minstrels  as  the  type  of  knighthood. 

I  assume,  throughout  the  poem,  that  Arthur  understands  the 
language  of  the  Saxons,  and  that  any  conversation  between  them 
is  carried  on  in  that  tongue.  For  the  evidence  that  a  dialect 
closely  allied  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  was  spoken  in  Britain  long 
before  the  invasion  of  Hengist,  see  Palgrave's  English  Com- 
monwealth (vol.  i.  c.  i.  p.  27),  a  work  that  combines  English 
discretion  with  German  learning.  I  assume,  also,  that  Arthur, 
as  sovereign  over  tributary  kings  in  Gaul,  and  as  intimately  allied 
with  Teutonic  and  Scandinavian  potentates,  is  acquainted  with 
the  chief  dialects  of  the  north,  and  is  thus  enabled  to  communi- 
cate with  the  idolatrous  Aleman  priest,  and  other  Northern  per- 
sonages, whom  the  progress  of  the  story  may  introduce. 

*  Even  the  word  Earl,  though  not  unknown  to  the  earlier  Anglo-Saxons,  was 
employed  by  them  in  a  dilTerent  sense  from  that  which  it  afterwards  borrowed  from 
the  Danish  jarl.  At  first,  it  meant  merely  a  person  of  noble  race,  of  Earl  kind, — 
but  the  Danes  applied  it  originally  to  a  leader  ;  it  then  became  the  name  given  to 
the  rulers  of  the  provinces  under  the  king,  and  at  length  wholly  supplanted  the  old 
English  title  of  Alderman,  as  applied  to  such  high  dignitaries."  See  Palgrave's 
History  of  England,  p.  2G7,  and  Palgrave's  Commonwealth,  part  I.  c.  iii.  p.  118. 


y 


NOTES    TO     BOOK    III.  129 

3  "And  cried  'Alfader!  but  for  the  respect/''  &c. 

Page  107,  stanza  xli. 

Alfader — Universal  Father — a  name  given  by  the  Teuton 
and  Scandinavian  nations  to  the  supreme  Deity,  often  applied 
to  Odin,  (and  indeed,  in  the  Prose  Edda,  never  applied  to  any 
other  god),  but,  according  to  some  learned  authorities,  apper- 
taining only,  in  strict  mythological  truth,  to  a  more  serene  and 
supreme  chief  in  the  Northern  Pantheon.  It  should  here  be  re- 
membered that  the  Saxons  (though  not  yet  converted  to  Christi- 
anity) are  represented  as  having  attained  to  a  much  greater  de- 
gree of  civilization  than  the  wandering  Aleman  tribe,*  whose 
priest  Arthur  saves  from  the  wolf:  and  so  (somewhat  too  flat- 
teringly) their  superstition  is  supposed  to  have  lost  much  of  its 
elder  and  more  sanguinary  barbarism. 

4 "  The  bird  which  Harold  bore 


As  was  the  Saxon  wont,  whate'er  his  way." 

Page  111,  stanza  Ivi. 

The  haw^k,  or  falcon,  was  also  the  usual  companion  of  the 
Cymrian  chiefs.  But  there  may  be  a  peculiar  reason  for  the 
special  favour  it  enjoyed  with  the  Saxons.  The  hawk  w^as 
sacred  to  Odin,  or,  as  the  Saxons  (fond  of  the  w)  wrote  the 
name,  Woden,  and  almost  inseparably  borne  by  the  high-born 
warriors  of  the  nation  by  whom  Odin  was  worshipped,  w^hether 
Teutonic  or  Scandinavian.  Those  wdio  have  only  glanced  over 
the  picturesque  passages  of  our  Saxon  history  will  remember 
that  the  Bayeux  tapestry  represents  Harold,  the  last  Saxon  king, 
with  his  faithful  falcon  on  his  wrist.  Hounds  were  also  invari- 
able attendants  of  the  Saxon  chiefs,  and  I  may  here  remark  that 
the  gre-hound  of  Wales  and  Saxon  England  could  scarcely  be 
the  present  greyhound,  who  tracks  his  quarry  by  the  eye,  not 
scent,  since  Ethelstan  sent  to  North  Walesf  (famous  for  that  de- 

*  The  heathen  priest  and  his  wild  troop  are  not  represented  as  a  fair  specimert 
in  that  day,  of  the  great  Aleman  family,  but  as  a  primitive  and  barbarous  offshoot 
from  the  main  stem. 

f  Malmsb.  lib.  ii   p.  60. 

9 


130  KING    ARTHUR. 

scription  of  dog)  for  such  as  had  "  s cent-tracking  noses^'^''  to 
find  the  deer  in  their  coverts.  Whatever  the  precise  species  of 
the  hunting  dogs,  so  esteemed  and  promoted  (which  I  have  called 
*^  blood-hounds  or  ban-dogs,")*  they  were  capable  of  coping 
with  the  wolf  and  the  wild  boar,  which  then  abounded  in  Great 
Britain. t  The  reader  will  notice  that,  though  Harold  unscrupu- 
lously uses  his  dogs  to  find  his  foe,  he  does  not  employ  them  to 
seize  it — a  delicate  distinction  which  later  Anglo-Saxons,  in 
their  colonial  settlements,  have  not  always  observed. 

5  "  AVlien  Caesar  arch'd  with  moving  steel  the  Rhine." 

Page  112,  stanza  Ix 

See  in  Plutarch  (vit.  Cses.)  and  in  Caesar's  Commentaries  (lib. 
iv.)  the  description  of  this  renowned  passage.  Cassar  w^as  the 
first  Roman  who  ever  crossed  the  Rhine  as  an  enemy.  To  do 
so  in  vessels  he  deemed  it  not  only  unsafe,  but  unworthy  of  his 
own  and  the  Roman  dignity.  Ten  days  were  consumed  in  the 
construction  of  this  bridge  and  the  transport  of  his  legions. 

6  "A  wise  Etrurian  Lar,  forewarned  ('t  was  said) 
By  his  dark  Ctere,  from  the  danger  fled." 

Page  116,  stanza  Ixxv. 

Csere,  one  of  the  twelve  cities  in  the  Etrurian  league  (though 
not  originally  an  Etrurian  population),  imparted  to  the  Romans 
their  sacred  mysteries :  hence  the  word  Casremonia.     This  holy 

*  Ban-dogs,  more  properly  barid-dogs,  (a  race  not  very  satisfactorily  defined  in 
Johnson's  Dictionary,)  were  hounds  trained  to  bait  the  boar  and  the  bull.  Cam- 
den (see  Middlesex  in  his  Britannia)  says  that  "three  of  them  could  manage  a 
bear."  The  name  is  apparently  derived  from  their  being  banded  against  their 
quarry.  In  later  times  they  were  much  used  as  watch-dogs.  The  Saxon  name 
for  blood-hound  was  statth-hound. 

t  In  the  curious  Anglo-Saxon  Calendar,  published  by  Strutt  (Horda,  1.  24,)  Sep- 
tember is  the  month  appropriated  to  "  Hunting  the  Wild  Boar,"  Edward  the  Con- 
fessor gave  a  wood  and  a  hyde  of  land,  with  the  custody  of  Bernwood  Forest,  in 
Bucks,  to  the  huntsman,  Nigel,  (and  his  heirs)  for  having  slain  a  wild  boar  which 
had  much  infested  the  said  forest  of  Bernwood.  See  Archa^ol.  vol.  iii.  p.  15.  Even 
so  late  as  the  time  of  Fitstephen,  wild  boars  abounded  in  the  large  forest  "  that  lieth 
very  near  London." 


NOTES    TO    BOOK    III.  131 

city  was  in  close  connexion  with  Delphi.  An  interesting  account 
of  it,  under  its  earlier  name  *'  Agylla,"  will  be  found  in  Sir  W. 
Cell's  *'  Topography  of  Rome  and  its  vicinity."  The  obscure 
passage  in  Plutarch's  Life  of  Sylla,  which  intimates  that  the 
Etrurian  soothsayers  had  a  forewarning  of  the  declining  fates  of 
their  country,  is  well  known  to  scholars ;  who  have  made  more 
of  it  than  it  deserves. 

The  word  lar  is  here  used  in  its  most  reserved  sense — that  of 
"  Lord."  It  occurs  too  frequently  in  monumental  inscriptions 
to  designate  any  regal,  or,  perhaps,  any  lofty  title ;  but  those  an- 
tiquaries who  have  proceeded  to  strip  its -signification  of  any 
rank  at  all  (see  Micali,  v.  ii.  c.  xxi.  page  70,  note),  and  consider 
it  merely  a  prenomen,  argue  on  very  insufficent  grounds ;  they 
presume  too  much  on  the  frequency  of  the  word  in  inscriptions 
— a  good  argument  against  its  identification  with  princely  rank, 
none  against  its  identification  with  noble.  It  would  rarely  hap- 
pen that  any  not  noble  would  have  had  mortuary  inscriptions  at 
all.  I  may  as  well  observe  here  that  the  adjective  larian 
would  be  derived  from  the  lar,  or  household  god  ;  the  adjective 
lartian,  from  the  lars,  or  lord  :  But  for  the  sake  of  euphony, 
the  word  lar  (as  applied  to  a  chief)  has  been  used  in  this  poem 
instead  of  lars. 

7  "  His  rod  the  Augur  waves  above  the  ground, 
And  cries  '  In  Tina's  name  I  bless  the  soil !'  " 

Page  117,  stanza  Ixxxi. 

Tina  was  the  Jove  of  the  Etrurians.  The  mode  in  which 
this  people  (whose  mysterious  civilization  so  tasks  our  fancy 
and  so  escapes  from  our  researches)  appropriated  a  colony  is 
briefly  described  in  the  text.  The  Augur  made  lines  in  the  air 
due  north,  south,  east,  and  west,  marked  where  the  lines  crossed 
upon  the  earth  ;  then  he  and  the  chiefs  associated  with  him  sat 
down,  covered  their  heads,  and  waited  some  approving  omen 
from  the  gods.  The  Etrurian  Augurs  were  celebrated  for 
their  power  over  the  electric  fluid.      The  vulture  was  a  popular 


132  KING     ARTHUR. 

bird    of    omen    in    the  founding    of    colonies.     See    Niebuhr, 
MuUer,  &c. 

8  " And  all  the  honours  of  the  race 

Lend  their  last  bloom  to  smile  on  ^]<2;lo\s  face.'^ 

Page  120,  stanza  xciii. 

The  Etrurinns  paid  more  respect  to  women  than  most  of  the 
classical  nations,  and  admitted  females  to  the  throne.  The 
Augur  (a  purely  Etruscan  name  and  office)  was  the  highest 
power  in  the  state.  In  the  earlier  Etruscan  history  the  Augur 
and  the  king  were  unquestionably  united  in  one  person.  Lat- 
terly, this  does  not  appear  to  have  been  necessarily  (nor  perhaps 
generally)  the  case.  The  King  (whether  we  call  him  lar  or 
lucumo),  as  well  as  the  Augur,  was  elected  out  of  a  certain 
tribe,  or  clan;  but  in  the  strange  colony  described  in  the  poem, 
it  is  supposed  that  the  rank  has  become  hereditary  in  the 
family  of  the  chief  who  headed  it,  as  would  probably  ha^e  been 
the  case  even  in  more  common-place  settlements  in  another 
soil.  Thus,  the  first  Etrurian  colonist,  Tarchun,  no  doubt  had 
his  successors  in  his  own  lineage. 

I  cannot  assert  that  ^^gle  is  a  purely  Etruscan  name  ;  it  is  one 
common  both  with  the  Greeks  and  Latins.  In  Apollodorus 
(ii.  5)  it  is  given  to  one  of  the  Hesperides,  and  in  Virgil  (Eclog. 
vi.  1.  20)  to  the  fairest  of  the  Naiads,  the  daughter  of  the  Sun  ; 
but  it  is  not  contrary  to  the  conformation  of  the  Etruscan  lan- 
guage, as,  by  the  way,  many  of  the  most  popular  Latinized 
Etruscan  words  are,  such  as  Lucumo^  for  Lauchme  ;  and  even 
Porsena,  or,  as  Virgil  (contrary  to  other  authorities)  spells  and 
pronounces  it,  Porse;?na  (a  name  which  has  revivecl  to  fresh 
fame  in  Mr.  Macaulay's  noble  "  Lays"")  is  a  sad  corruption  ; 
for,  as  both  Niebuhr  and  Sir  William  Gell  remark,  the  Etruscans 
had  no  o  in  their  language.  Pliny  informs  us  that  they  supplied 
its  place  by  the  v.  \  apprehend  that  an  Etrurian  would  have 
spelt  Porsena  Pwrsna.* 

*  Drydcn,  with  an  accurate  tlelicacy  of  erudition  for  which  one  might  scarcely 
give  him  credit,  does  not  in  his  translation  follow  Virgil's  quantity  I'orscnna,  but 
makes  the  word  short,  Porsena. 


NOTES    TO    BOOK     III.  133 

9  "  The  gods  had  care  of  their  Tagetian  child." 

Page  121,  stanza  xcvii. 

Tages — the  tutelary  genius  of  the  Etrurians.  They  had  a 
noble  legend  that  Tages  appeared  to  Tarchun,  rising  from  a 
furrow  beneath  his  plough,  with  a  man's  head  and  a  child's 
body  ;  sung  the  laws  destined  to  regulate  the  Etrurian  colonist, 
then  sunk,  and  expired.  In  Ovid's  Metamorphoses  (xvi.  533) 
Tages  is  said  to  have  first  taught  the  Etrurians  to  foresee  the  future. 

10  "  Those  forms  of  dark  yet  lustrous  loveliness." 

Page  124,  stanza  cvii. 

Whatever  the  original  cradle  of  the  mysterious  Etrurians, 
scholars,  with  one  or  two  illustrious  exceptions,  are  pretty  well 
agreed  that  it  must  have  been  somewhere  in  the  East ;  and  the 
more  familiar  we  become  with  the  remains  of  their  art,  the 
stronger  appears  the  evidence  of  their  early  and  intimate  con- 
nexion with  the  ^Egyptians,  though  in  themselves  a  race  de- 
cidedly not  ^Egyptian.  See  Micali,  Stor.  (S.^^.  Antich.  Pop. 
But  in  referring  to  this  delightful  and  learned  writer,  to  whom 
I  am  under  many  obligations,  in  this  part  of  my  poem,  1  must 
own,  with  such  frankness  as  respect  for  so  great  an  authority 
will  permit,  that  I  think  many  of  his  assumptions  are  to  be 
taken  with  great  qualification  and  reserve. 

11  "Lo  !  where  the  sacred  talismans  diffuse 

Their  fragrant  charms  against  the  Evil  Powers. 
Lo  !  where  vouno-  hands  the  consecrated  dews 
From  cusped  vervain  sprinkle  round  the  flowers." 

Page  125,  stanza  cxiii. 

The  Etrurians  had  talismans  against  the  evil  eye,  wiiich  were 
impregnated  with  spices.  The  vervain  was  as  holy  with  the 
Etrurians  as  with  our  Druid  ancestors.  A  crown  of  vervain 
was,  on  solemn  occasions,  worn  by  the  Augur. 

12  "And  o'er  the  robe  with  broidered  palm-leaves  sown." 

Page  125,  stanza  cxiii. 

The  purple  gown,  or  toga,  broidered  with  palm-leaves  and 
stars,  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  distinguishing  robe  of  the 
princely  families.  It  was  semicircular,  as  Micali  observes  in  a 
note,  vol.  i.  97. 


KINa    ARTHUR. 


BOOK  IV. 


ARGUMENT. 

Invocation  to  Love  ;  Arthur,  iEgle,  and  the  Augur  ;  Dialogue  between  the 
Cymrian  and  the  Etrurian  ;  Meanwhile  Lancelot  gains  the  sea-shore, 
where  he  meets  with  the  Aleman-priest  and  his  sons,  and  hears  tidings 
of  Arthur  ;  He  tells  them  the  tale  of  his  own  infancy  ;  Crosses  the  sea  ; 
Lands  on  the  coast  of  Brcttanuie ;  And  is  guided  by  the  crystal  ring 
in  quest  of  Arthur  towards  the  Alps ;  He  finds  the  King's  charger, 
which  Arthur  had  left  without  the  vaulted  passage  into  the  Hap}>y  Val- 
ley ;  But  the  rock-gate  being  closed,  he  cannot  discover  the  King,  and, 
winding  by  the  foot  of  the  Alps  round  the  valley,  gains  a  lake  and  a  con- 
vent; The  story  now  returns  to  Arthur  and  iEgle  ;  Descriptive  stanzas ;  A 
raven  brings  Arthur  news  from  Merlin ;  The  King  resolves  to  quit  the 
valley  ;  He  seeks  and  finds  the  Augur ;  Dialogue  ;  Parting  scene  with 
^gle  ;  Arthur  follows  the  Augur  towards  the  fane  of  the  funereal  gud. 


BOOK    IV. 


I. 

Hail,  thou,  the  ever  young,  albeit  of  Night 

And  of  primeval  Chaos  eldest  born  ; 
Thou,  at  whose  birth  broke  forth  the  Founts  of  Light, 

And  o'er  Creation  flush'd  the  earliest  Morn ! 
Life,  in  thy  life,  suffused  the  conscious  whole ; 
And  formless  matter  took  the  harmonious  soul. 


11. 


Hail,  Love !  the  Death-defyer !  age  to  age 

Linking,  with  flowers,  in  the  still  heart  of  man ! 

Dream  to  the  bard,  and  marvel  to  the  sage, 
Glor}^  and  mystery  since  the  world  began. 

Shadowing  the  cradle,  bright'ning  at  the  tomb, 

Soft  as  our  joys,  and  solemn  as  our  doom  ! 

III. 

Ghostlike  amidst  the  unfamiliar  Past, 

Dim  shadows  flit  along  the  streams  of  Time  ; 

Vainly  our  learning  trifles  with  the  vast 

Unknown  of  ages  ! — Like  the  wizard's  rhyme 

We  call  the  dead,  and  from  the  Tartarus 

'Tis  but  the  dead  that  rise  to  answer  us ! 


138  KING    ARTHUR. 

IV. 

A^oiceless  and  Avan,  we  question  them  in  vain ; 

They  leave  unsolved  earth's  mighty  yesterday. 
But  wave  thy  wand — they  bloom,  they  breathe  again  ! 

The  link  is  found  ! — as  we  love,  so  loved  they ! 
Warm  to  our  clasp  our  human  brothers  start, 
Man  smiles  on  man,  and  heart  speaks  out  to  heart. 

V.  *  .      ^ 

Arch  Power,  of  every  power  most  dread,  most  sweet, 

Ope  at  thy  touch  the  far  celestial  gates ; 
Yet  terror  flies  with  Joy  before  thy  feet, 

And,  with  the  Graces,  glide  unseen  the  Fates. 
Eos  and  Hesperus ;  one,  with  twofold  light, 
Bringer  of  day,  and  herald  of  the  night. 

VI. 

But,  lo !  again,  where  rise  upon  the  gaze 
The  Tuscan  Virgin  in  the  Alpine  bower, 

The  steel-clad  wanderer,  in  his  rapt  amaze, 
Led  thro'  the  fiowrets  to  that  living  flower : 

Eye  meeting  eye,  as  in  that  blest  survey 

Two  hearts,  unspeaking,  breathe  themselves  away ! 

vn. 
Behind  the  King  the  dark-robed  Augur  stood, 

And  watch'd  the  meeting  with  his  calm,  cold  eye ; 
As  calm,  as  cokl,  as  human  passions  view'd 

From  the  still  Dis  by  iron  Destiny. 
And  setting  sunbeams,  thro'  the  blossoms  stealing. 
Lit  circled  Childhood  round  the  Virgin  kneeling. 


BOOK   ly.  139 


Viii. 


Slow  from  charm'd  wonder  woke  at  last  the  King, 
And  the  frank  mien  regain'd  the  princely  grace. 

Gently  he  pass'd  amidst  the  kneeling  ring, 
Knelt  with  the  infants  to  that  downcast  face ; 

And  on  the  hand  that  thrill'd  in  his  to  be, 

Press'd  the  pure  kiss  of  courteous  chivalry. 

IX. 

And  in  his  bold,  rough-music'd  mountain  tongue. 
Spoke  the  knight's  homage  and  the  man's  delight. 

Is  there  one  common  language  to  the  3'oung 

That,  with  each  word  more  troubled  and  more  bright, 

Stirred  the  quick  blush — as  when  the  south  wind  heaves 

Into  sweet  storm  the  hush  of  rosy  leaves  ? — 

X. 

But  now  the  listening  Augur  to  the  side 
Of  Arthur  moves  ;  and  sighing  silently, 

The  handmaid  children  from  the  chamber  glide, 
And  ^gle  followeth  slow,  with  drooping  eye. — 

Then  on  the  King  the  soothsayer  gazed  and  spoke, 

And  Arthur  started  as  the  accents  broke. 

XI. 

For  those  dim  sounds  his  mother-tongue  express 

But  in  some  dialect  of  remotest  age ; 
Like  that  in  which  the  far  Saronides* 

Exchanged  dark  riddles  with  the  Samian  sage.(^) 
Ghostlike  the  sounds ;  a  founder  of  his  race 
Seem'd  in  that  voice  the  haunter  of  the  place. 

*  Saronides — the  Druids  of  Gaul :  "  The  Samian  Sage" — PrxHAGORAS,   The 


140  KING    ARTHUR. 

XII. 

"  Guest/'  said  the  priest,  with  labour'd  words  and  slow, 
"  If,  as  thy  language,  tho'  corrupt,  betrays. 

Thou  art  of  those  great  tribes  our  records  show 
As  the  crown'd  wanderers  of  untrodden  ways, 

Whose  eldest  god,  from  pole  to  pole  enshrined, 

Gives  Greece  her  Kronos  and  her  Boudu  to  Ind ; 

XIII. 

"  Who,  from  their  Syrian  parent-stem,  spread  forth 
Their  giant  roots  to  everj^  farthest  shore, 

Sires  of  young  nations  in  the  stormy  North, 

And  slumberous  East ;  but  most  renown'd  of  yore 

In  purple  Tyre ; — if,  of  Phcenician  race, 

In  truth  thou  art, — thrice  welcome  to  the  place ! 

XIV. 

"  Know  us  as  sons  of  that  old  friendly  soil 

Whose  ports,  perchance,  yet  glitter  with  the  prows 

Of  Punic  ships,  when  resting  from  their  toil 
In  Luna's*  gulf,  the  sunbeat  crews  carouse. 

Unless  in  sooth  (and  here  he  sigh'd)  the  day 

Caere  foretold  hath  come  to  Rasena  !"-j- 


Augur  is  here  supposed  to  speak  Phoenician  as  the  parent  language  of  Arthur's 
native  Celtic.     See  Note  1. 

•  Luna,  a  trading  town  on  the  gulf  of  Spezia,  said  to  have  heen  founded  by  the 
Etrurian  Tarchun.  See  Sfruho,  lib,  v.  Cat.  Orig.  xxv.  In  a  fragment  of  Ennius, 
Luna  is  mentioned.  In  Lucan's  time  it  was  deserted,  "  desertaj  mocnia  Luna;." — 
Luc.  i.  586. 

I  Rasexa  was  the  name  which  the  Etrurians  gave  to  themselves.  —  Tiviss*s 
Niebuhr,  vol.  i.  c.  vii.    Muller  die  Eirusker:  Uion.  i.  30. 


BOOK     IV.  141 

XV. 

-^  Grave  sir,"  quoth  Arthur,  piteously  perplext, 
"  Or  much — forgive  me,  hath  my  hearing  err'd, 

Or  of  that  People  quoted  in  thy  text, 

(Perish'd  long  since) — but  dimly  have  I  heard  : 

Phoenicians !     True,  that  name  is  found  within 

Our  scrolls ; — they  came  to  Ynys-wen*  for  tin  ! 


XVI. 

"  As  for  my  race,  our  later  bards  declare" 

It  springs  from  Brut,  the  famous  Knight  of  Tro}^ ; 

But  if  Sir  Hector  spoke  in  Welch,  I  ne'er 

Could  clearly  learn — meanwhile,  I  hear  with  joy. 

My  native  language  (pardon  the  remark) 

Much  as  Noah  spoke  it  when  he  left  the  ark. 


XVII. 

"  More  would  my  pleasure  be  increased  to  know 
That  that  fair  lady  has  your  own  precision 

In  the  dear  music  which  so  long  ago,  [cian." 

We  taught — observe,  not  learnd  from — the  Phoeni- 

"  Speak  as  yovi  ought  to  speak  the  maiden  can ; 

0  guttural-grumbling  and  disvow^ell'd  man."(^) 

•  Ynys-wen — England,  "  the  White  Island." 

f  Sir  F.  Palgrave  bids  us  remark  that  Taliessiv,  who  was  a  contemporary  of 
Arthur,  or  nearly  so,  addresses  his  countrymen  as  "the  remnant  of  Troy." — Pul- 
grave^s  Commonwen/lh,  vol.  i.  c.  x.  p.  323.  The  Britons  no  doubt  received  that 
legend  with  many  others,  to  which  Welch  scholars  have  too  fondly  assigned  a  more 
remote  antiquity,  from  the  Romans. 


142  KING    ARTHUR. 

XVIII. 

Replied  the  priest  "  But,  ere  I  yet  disclose 
The  bliss  that  Northia*  singles  for  your  lot, 

Fain  would  I  learn  what  change  the  gods  impose 
On  the  old  races  and  the  sceptres  ? — what 

The  latest  news  from  Rasena  ?" — "  With  shame 

I  own,  grave  sir,  I  never  heard  that  name !'  " 

XIX. 

The  Augur  stood  aghast ! — "  0,  ruthless  Fates  ! 

Who  then  rules  Italy  ?"— "  The  Ostrogoth." 
"  The  Os — the  what  ?" — "  Except  the  Papal  states ; 

Unless  the  Goth,  indeed,  has  ravished  both 
The  Caesar's  throne  and  the  Apostle's  chair — 
Spite  of  the  knight  of  Thrace, — Sir  Belisair."*j* 

XX. 

"  What  else  the  warrior  nations  of  the  earth  ?" 

Groan'd  the  stunn'd  Augur. — "Reverend  sir,  the  Huns, 

Franks,  Vandals,  Lombards — all  have  warlike  worth ; 
Nor  least,  I  trust,  old  Cymri's  Druid  sons !" 

"  0,  Northia,  Northia !  and  the  East  ?" — "  In  peace. 

Under  the  Christian  Emperor  of  Greece ; 

*  Northia,  the  Etrurian  Deity,  which  corresponds  with  the  Fortune  of  the 
Koraans,  but  probably  with  something  more  of  the  sterner  attributes  which  the 
Greek  and  the  Scandinavian  gave  to  the  Fates.  I  cannot  but  observe  here  on  the 
similarity  in  sound  and  signification  between  the  Etrurian  Northia  and  the  Scan- 
dinavian Noma.  Noma  with  the  last  is  the  general  term  applied  to  Fate,  The 
Etrurian  name  for  the  deities  collectively — ^sars,  is  not  dissimilar  to  that  given 
collectively  to  their  deities  by  the  Scandinavians — viz.,  ^sir,  or  Asas. 

•j-  liclisarius,  whose  fame  was  just  then  rising  under  Justinian.  The  Ostrogoth, 
Theodoric,  was  on  the  throne  of  Italy. 


BOOK    IV.  143 

XXI. 

"  Whose  arms  of  late  have  scourged  the  Payniin  race. 
And  worsted  Satan  !" — "  Satan,  who  is  he  ?" 

Greatly  the  knight  was  shock' d,  in  that  fair  place, 
To  find  such  ignorance  of  the  powers  that  be : 

So  then,  from  Eve  and  Serpent  he  began ; 

And  sketch'd  the  history  of  the  Foe  of  Man. 

XXII. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  Augur — "  here,  I  comprehend, 
^gypt,  and  Typhon,  and  the  serpent  creed  !(^) 

So,  o'er  the  East  the  gods  of  Greece  extend, 
And  Isis  totters  ?" — "  Truly,  and  indeed," 

Sighed  Arthur,  scandalized — "  I  see,  with  pain. 

You  have  much  to  learn  my  monks  could  best  explain — 


XXIIT. 

"  Nathless  for  this,  and  all  you  seek  to  know 
Which  I,  no  clerk,  though  Christian,  can  relate, 

Occasion  meet  my  sojourn  may  bestow ; — 

Now,  wherefore,  pray  you,  through  yon  granite  gate 

Have  you,  with  signs  of  some  distress  endured, 

And  succour  sought,  my  wandering  steps  allured  ?" 

XXIV. 

"  Pardon,  but  first,  soul-startling  stranger,"  said 
The  slow-recovering  Augur — "  say  if  fair 

The  regions  seem  to  whicli  those  steps  were  led  ? 
And  next,  the  maid  to  whom  you  knelt  compare 

With  those  you  leave.     Are  hers,  in  sober  truth, 

The  charms  that  fiK  the  rovino^  heart  of  vouth  ?" 


144  KING     ARTHUR. 

XXV. 

"  Lovelier  than  all  on  earth  mine  eyes  have  seen 
Smiles  the  gay  marvel  of  this  gentle  realm ; 

Of  all  earth's  beauty  that  fair  maid  the  queen ; 
And,  might  I  place  her  glove  upon  my  helm, 

I  would  proclaim  that  truth  with  lance  and  shield, 

In  tilt  and  tourney,  sole  against  a  field !" 

XXVI. 

*^  Since  that  be  so  (though  what  such  custom  means 
I  rather  guess  than  fully  comprehend) 

Answer  again ; — if  right  my  reason  gleans 
From  dismal  harvests,  and  discerns  the  end 

To  which  the  Beautiful  and  Wise  have  come, 

Hard  are  the  fates  beyond  our  Alpine  home  : 

XXVII. 

''  What  makes,  without,  the  chief  pursuit  of  life  ?" 
"  War,"  said  the  Cj^mrian,  with  a  mournful  sigh  : 

*^  The  fierce  provoke,  the  free  resist  the  strife, 
The  daring  perish  and  the  dastard  fly ; 

Amidst  a  storm  we  snatch  our  troubled  breath, 

And  life  is  one  grim  battle-field  of  death." 

XXVIII. 

^'  Then  here,  0  stranger,  find  at  last  repose  ! 

Here,  never  smites  the  thunder-blast  of  war ; 
Here  all  unknown  the  very  name  of  foes ; 

Here,  but  with  yielding  earth  men's  contests  are ; 
Our  trophies — flower  and  oUve,  corn  and  wine  : — 
Accept  a  sceptre,  be  this  kingdom  thine ! 


BOOK  ly.  145 

'^  Oar  queeiij  tlie  virgin  who  liath  cliarni'd  thine  eyes — 
Our  laws   her  spouse,  in  whom  the  gods  shall  send, 

Decree ;  the  gods  have  sent  thee  ; — what  the  skies 
Allot,  receive  : — Here,  shall  thy  wanderings  end, 

Here  thy  woes  cease,  and  life's  voluptuous  day 

Glide,  like  yon  river  through  our  flowers,  away." 

XXX. 

"  Kind  sir,"  said  Arthur  gratefully — ^^  such  lot 
Indeed  were  fair  beyond  what  dreams  display ; 

But  earth  has  duties  which — " — "  Relate  them  not  1" 
Exclaim'd  the  Augur — "  or  at  least  delay, 

Till  better  known  the  kingdom  and  the  bride. 

Then  youth,  and  sense,  and  nature,  shall  decide." 


XXXI. 

With  that,  the  Augur,  much  too  wise  as  yet 
To  hint  compulsion,  and  secure  from  flight, 

Arose,  resolved  each  scruple  to  beset 

With  all  which  melteth  duty  in  delight — 

Here,  for  awhile,  we  leave  the  tempted  King, 

And  turn  to  him  who  owns  the  crystal  ring. 

XXXII. 

Oh,  the  old  time's  divine  and  fresh  romance  ! 
When  o'er  the  lone  yet  ever-haunted  ways 
Went  frank-eyed  Knighthood  with  the  lifted  lance. 

And  life  with  wonder  charm'd  adventurous  days ; 
When  light  more  rich,  through  prisms  that  dimm'd  it 

shone ; 
And  Nature  loom'd  more  large  through  the  Unknown. 

10 


146  KING    ARTnUR. 

XXXIII. 

Nature,  not  then  the  slave  of  formal  law  ! 

Her  each  free  sport  a  miracle  might  be ; 
Enchantment  clothed  the  forest  with  sweet  awe ; 

Astolfo'*'  spoke  from  out  the  Bleeding  Tree ; 
The  Fairy  wreath'd  his  dance  in  moonlit  air ; 
On  golden  sands  the  Mermaid  sleek'd  her  hair — 

XXXIV. 

Then  soul  learn'd  more  than  barren  sense  can  teach 
(Soul  with  the  sense  now  evermore  at  strife) 

Wherever  fancy  wandered  man  could  reach — 
And  what  is  now  called  poetry  was  life. 

If  the  old  Ijeauty  from  the  world  is  fled, 

Is  it  that  Truth  or  that  Belief  is  dead  ? 

XXXV.  _ 

Not  following,  step  by  step,  the  devious  King, 
But  whither  best  his  later  steps  are  gained, 

Moved  the  sure  index  of  the  fairy  ring. 

And  since,  at  least,  a  moon  hath  wax'd  and  weaned 

What  time  the  pilgrim  left  the  father-land — 

So  towards  his  fresher  footsteps  veered  the  hand. 

XXXVI. 

And  now  where  pure  Sabrina'}*  on  her  breast 
Hushes  sweet  Isca,  and,  like  some  fair  nun 

That  yearns,  earth-wearied  for  the  golden  rest. 
Unfolds  her  spotless  bosom  to  the  sun ; 

Ever  and  ever  glad'ning  gloriously, 

Till  her  last  wave  melts  noiseless  in  the  sea : 

*     Ariosto,  canto  vi. 

I  Sahuina,  the  Severn  ;  whose  legendary  tale  Milton  has  so  exquisitely  told  in 
the  Comus. — Isca,  the  Usk. 


BOOK    IT.  147 


XXXVII. 


Across  that  ford  pass'd  sprightly  Lancelot, 

Then,  towards  those  lovely  lands  which  yet  retain 

The  Cymrian  freedom,  rode,  and  rested  not 

Till,  rough  on  Devon,*  broke  the  broaden'd  main. 

Through  rocks  abrupt  the  strong  waves  force  their  way, 

Here  cleave  the  land — there^  hew  the  indented  bay. 


XXXVIII. 


Paused  the  good  knight.    Kude  huts  lay  far  and  wide ; 

The  dipping  sea-gulls  wheel'd  with  startled  shriek ; 
Drawn  on  the  sand  lay  coracles  of  hide,f 

And  all  was  desolate  ;  when  towards  the  creek^ 
Near  which  he  halts,  comes  loud  the  splashing  oar ; 
A  boat  shoots  in ;  the  seamen  leap  to  shore. 


XXXIX. 

Three  were  their  number, — two  in  youthful  prime. 
One  of  mid  years ; — tall,  huge  of  limb  the  three ; 

Scarce  clad,  with  weapons  of  a  northward  clime ; 
Clubs,  spears,  and  shields — the  uncouth  armoury 

Of  man,  while  yet  the  wild  beast  is  his  foe. 

Yet  something  still  the  lords  of  earth  may  show. 


*  The  shore  which  Lancelot  reaches  (long  after  his  time  occupied  but  by  a  few 
straggling  fishermen)  appears  to  be  that  which  now,  in  ihe  harbour  of  Plymouth, 
receives  the  merchandize  of  the  world. 

f  The  ancient  British  boats,  covered  with  corii  or  hyd«s — "  The  ancient 
Britons,"  as  Mr.  Pennant  observes,  "  had  them  of  large  size,  and  even  made  short 
voyages  in  them,  according  to  the  accounts  we  receive  from  Lucan." — Fennanf, 
vol.  i.  p.  303. 


148  KING    ARTHUR. 

XL. 

The  pride  of  eye,  the  majesty  of  mien, 
The  front  erect  that  looks  upon  the  star ; 

While  round  each  neck  the  twisted  chains  are  seen 
Of  Teuton  chiefs ; — (and  signs  of  chiefs  they  are 

In  Cymrian  lands — where  still  the  torque*  of  gold 

Or  decks  the  higliborn  or  rewards  the  bold.) 

XLI. 

Stern  Lancelot  frown'd;  for  in  those  sturdy  forms 
The  Briton's  eye  the  Saxon  foeman  fear'd. 

"  Why  come  ye  hither  ? — nor  compelled  by  storms, 
Nor  proffering  barter  ?"     As  he  spoke  they  near'd 

The  noble  knight ; — and  thus  the  elder  said, 

'^  Nought  save  his  heart  the  Aleman  hath  led ! 

XLII. 

"  Ere  more  I  answer,  say  if  this  the  shore 

And  thou  the  friend  of  him  who  owns  the  dove  ? 

Arthur  the  King, — who  taught  us  to  adore 

By  the  m  n's  deeds  the  God  whose  creed  is  love? 

Then  Lancelot  answered,  with  a  moistening  eye, 

''  Arthur's  true  knight  and  lealest  friend  am  I." 

XLITI. 

With  that,  he  leapt  from  selle  to  clasp  his  hand 
Who  spoke  thus  gently  of  the  absent  one ; 

And  now  behold  them  seated  on  the  sand, 
Frank  faces  smiling  in  the  cordial  sun ; 

The  absent,  there,  seemed  present;  to  unite 

In  loving  bonds,  his  converts  and  his  knight. 

*  The  twisted  chain,  or  oollar,  denotecl  the  chiefs  of  all  the  olil  tribes,  known  ns 
Hauls  to  the  Roman!'.  It  is  by  this  badge  that  the  critics  in  art  have  riglitly  de- 
cided that  the  statue  called  "The  Dying  Gladiator''  is  in  truth  nieant  to  iierponiiy 


BOOK    IV.  149 

XLIV. 

Then  told  the  Aleman  the  tale  by  sono^ 

Already  told — and  we  resume  its  flow 
Where  the  mild  hero  charm'd  the  stormy  throng 

And  twined  the  arm  that  sheltered  round  his  foe : 
Not  meanly  conquered  but  sublimely  won — 
Stern  Harold  veil'd  his  plume  to  Uther's  son. 

XLV. 

The  Saxon  troop  resought  the  Vandal  king, 
And  Arthur  sojourn'd  with  the  savage  race : 

More  easy  such  rude  proselytes  to  bring 

To  Christian  truth,  than  in  the  wondrous  place 

Where  now  he  rests, — proud  wisdom  he  shall  find ! 

Clearliest  dawns  heaven  upon  the  simplest  mind. 

XLVI. 

But  when  his  cause  of  wrong  the  Cymrian  showed ; 

The  heathen  foe — the  carnage-crimson'd  fields ; 
With  one  fierce  impulse  those  fierce  converts  giow'd, 

And  their  wild  war-howl  chimed  with  clashing  shields; 
But  by  the  past's  dark  history  Arthur  taught, 
Refused  the  aid  which  Yortigern  had  sought. 

XLVII. 

Yet  to  the  chief  (for  there  at  least  no  fear) 
And  his  two  sons,  a  slow  consent  he  gave : 

Show'd  by  the  prince  the  stars  hj  which  to  steer. 
They  hew'd  a  pine  and  launched  it  on  the  wave ; 

Bringing  rough  forms  but  dauntless  hearts  to  swell 

The  force  that  guards  the  fates  of  Carduel. 

a  wounded  Gaul.     The  collar,  or  torque,  was  long  retained  by  the  chiefs  of  Britain 
— and  allusions  to  it  are  frequent  in  the  songs  of  the  Welch 


150  KING    ARTHUR. 


XLVIII. 


The  story  heard,  the  son  of  royal  Ban* 

Questions  the  paths  to  which  the  King  was  led. 

"  Know/'  answered  Faul  (so  hight  the  Aleman,) 
"  That,  in  our  father's  days,  our  warriors  spread 

O'er  lands  wherein  eternal  summer  dwells, 

Beyond  the  snow-storm's  siegeless  pinnacles ; 


XLIX. 

"  And  on  the  borders  of  those  lands,  't  is  told, 
There  lies  a  lake,  some  dead  great  city's  grave, 

Where,  when  the  moon  is  at  her  full,  behold 
Pillar  and  palace  shines  up  from  the  wave  1 

And  o'er  the  water  glideth,  still  and  dark, 


.v! 


Seen  btit  by  seers,  a  spectre  and  a  barl 


"  It  chanced,  as  round  our  fires  w^e  sate  at  night. 
And  saga-runes  to  wile  our  watch  were  sung, 

That  with  the  legends  of  our  father's  might 

And  wandering  labours,  this  old  tale  was  strttng. 

Then  the  roused  King  much  question'd ; — what  we  knew 

We  told,  still  question  from  each  answ^er  grew. 

*  Aconrdins:  to  the  French  romance  writers,  Lancelot  was  the  son  of  King  Ban 
of  Bcnoic,  a  tributary  to  the  Cyrnrian  crown.  The  Welch  claim  him,  however,  as  a 
national  hero,  in  spile  of  his  name,  which  they  inter{)ret  as  a  translation  from  one 
of  their  own — Paladr  tldclt,  splinten^d  spear,  (Lady  C  CJuest's  Mabinogion,  vol. 
i.  p  91.)  The  favourite  device,  by  the  way,  of  [?ichard  Corur  de  Lion  was  a  mailed 
hand,  holding  a  splintered  lance,  with  the  noble  motto.  "  labor  viris  convenit,"  la- 
hour  becomes  men.  In  a  subse(|uent  page,  Lancelot  tells  the  tale  (pretty  nearly  as 
it  i.s  ti)Id  in  the  French  romance)  which  obtained  him  the  title  of  "Lancelot  of 
the  Lake."     See  uotc  in  Ellis's  edition  of  W  ay's  Fabliau.v,  vol   ii.  p.  2oG. 


BOOK  ly.  151 


LI. 

a 


That  night  he  slept  not — with  the  morn  was  gone ; 

And  the  dove  led  him  where  the  snow-storms  sleep." 
Then  Lancelot  rose,  and  led  his  destrier  on, 

And  gained  the  boat,  and  motioned  to  the  deep, 
His  purpose  well  the  Alem^en  divine, 
And  launch  once  m.ore  the  bark  upon  the  brine. 

LII. 

And  ask  to  aid — "  Know,  friends,"  replied  the  knight, 
"  Each  wave  that  roUeth  smooths  its  frown  for  me ; 

My  sire  and  mother,  by  the  lawless  might 
Of  a  fierce  foe  expell'd,  and  forced  to  flee 

From  the  fair  halls  of  Benoic,  paused  to  take 

Breath  for  new  woes,  beside  a  Fairy's  lake. 

LIII. 

"  With  them  was  I,  their  new-born  helpless  heir, — 
The  hunted  exiles  gazed  afar  on  home, 

And  saw  the  giant  fires  that  dyed  the  air  [dome. 

Like    blood,   spring  wreathing  round  the  crushing 

They  clung,  they  gazed — no  word  by  either  spoken ; 

And  in  that  hush  the  sterner  heart  was  broken. 

LIV. 

"  The  woman  felt  the  cold  hand  fail  her  own ; 

The  head  that  lean'd  fell  heavy  on  the  sod ; 
She  knelt — she  kiss'd  the  lips, — the  breath  was  flown ! 

She  call'd  upon  a  soul  that  was  with  God : 
For  the  first  time  the  wife's  sweet  power  was  o'er — 
She  who  had  soothed  till  th<3n  could  soothe  no  more ! 


152  KING    ARTHUR. 

LV. 

"  In  the  wife's  woe,  the  mother  was  forgot. 

At  hist — (for  I  was  all  earth  held  of  him 
Who  had  been  all  to  her,  and  now  was  not) — 

She  rose,  and  look'd,  with  tearless  eyes,  but  dim, 
In  the  babe's  face  the  father  still  to  see ; 
And  lo  !  the  babe  was  on  another's  knee  ! — 

LVI. 

"  Another's  lip  had  kissed  it  into  sleep. 

And  o'er  the  slee23  another,  watchful,  smiled ; — 

The  Fairy  sate  beside  the  lake's  still  deep. 

And  hush'd  with  chaunted  charms  the  orphan  child ! 

Scared  at  the  cry  the  startled  mother  gave, 

It  sprang,  and  snow-like,  melted  in  the  wave. 

LVII. 

"  There,  in  calm  halls  of  lucent  crystalline. 
Fed  by  the  dews  that  fell  from  golden  stars. 

But  through  the  lymph  I  saw  the  sunbeams  shine. 
Nor  dreamed  a  world  beyond  the  glistening  spars ; 

And  my  nurse  blessed  me  with  the  charm  that  saves 

On  stream,  on  sea — no  matter  where  the  waves. 

N 

LVIIT. 

"  In  my  fifth  year,  to  Uther's  royal  towers 
The  fairy  bore  me,  and  her  charge  resign'd. 

My  mother  took  the  veil  of  Christ — the  Hours 
With  Arthur's  life  the  orphan's  life  entwined. 

O'er  mine  own  element  my  course  I  take — 

All  oceans  smile  on  Lancelot  of  the  Lake !" 


BOOK    lY.  153 

LIX. 

He  said,  and  waived  his  hand :  around  the  boat 
The  curlews  hovered,  as  it  shot  to  sea. 

The  wild  men,  lingering,  watch'd  the  lessening  float, 
Till  in  the  far  expanse  lost  desolately, 

Then  slowly  towards  the  hut  they  bent  their  way, 

And  the  lone  waves  moaned  up  the  lifeless  bay. 

LX. 

Pass  we  the  voyage.     Hunger-worn,  to  shore 

Gain'd  man  and  steed;  there  food  and  rest  they  found 

In  humble  roofs.     The  course,  resumed  once  more, 
Stretch'd  inland  o'er  not  unfamiliar  ground ; 

Pleased,  as  he  rides  by  tower  and  town,  to  see 

Cymri's  old  oak  rebloom  in  Brettanie. . 

LXT. 

Nathless,  no  pause,  save  such  as  needful  rest 
demands,  delays  him  in  the  friendly  land. 

No  tidings  here  of  Arthur  gain'd,  his  breast 

Springs  to  the  goal  of  the  quick-moving  hand, 

Howbeit  not  barren  of  adventurous  days, 

Sweet  Danger  found  him  in  the  devious  ways. 

Lxir. 

What  foes  encountered  or  what  damsels  freed — 
What  demon  spells  in  lonely  forests  braving, 

Leave  we  to  songs  yet  vocal  to  the  reed 
On  every  bank,  beloved  by  poets,  waving; 

Our  task  reluctant  from  the  muse  of  old, 

Takes  but  the  tale  by  nobler  bards  untold. 


154  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXIII. 

Now  as  he  journeys,  frequent  more  and  more 
Tiie  traces  of  the  steps  he  tracks  are  found ; 

Fame,  Hke  a  hght,  shines  broadening  on  before 
His  path,  and  cleaves  the  shadows  on  the  ground ; 

High  deeds  and  gentle,  bruited  near  and  far, 

Show  where  that  soul  went  flashing  as  a  star. 

LXIV. 

At  length  he  gains  the  Ausonian  Alpine  walls ; 

Here,  castle,  convent,  town,  and  hamlet  fade  ; 
Lone,  through  the  rolling  mists,  the  hoof-tread  falls ; 

Lone,  earth's  mute  giants  loom  amidst  the  shade ; 
Yet  still,  as  sure  of  hope,  he  tracks  the  king. 
Up  steep,  through  gorge,  v/here  guides  the  crystal  ring. 

LXV. 

One  day — along  by  daedal  chasms  his  course — 

He  saw  before  him  indistinctly  pass 
Through  the  dun  fogs,  what  seemed  a  phantom  hor;'e, 

Like  that  which  oft,  amidst  the  dank  morass, 
Bestrid  by  goblin-meteor,  starts  the  eye — 
So  fleshles>s  flitting — wan  and  shadowy. 

LXVI. 

By  a  bare  rock  it  paused,  and  feebly  neigh'd. 
As  the  good  knight  descending,  seized  the  rein ; 

Dew-rusted  mail  the  shrunken  front  array'd ; 
The  rich  selle  rotted  with  the  moulder  stain ; 

And  on  the  selle  were  slung  helm,  axe,  and  mace ; 

And  the  great  lance  lay  careless  near  the  place. 


BOOK  ly.  155 

LXVII. 

Then  first  tlie  seeker's  stricken  spirit  fell ; 

Too  well  that  helmet,  with  its  dragon  crest, 
Speaks  of  the  mighty  owner ;  and  too  well 

That  steed,  so  oft  by  snowy  hands  carest, 
When  bright-eyed  Beauty  from  the  balcon  Ijent 
To  crown  the  victor-lord  of  tournament. 

LXVIII. 

Near  and  afar  he  searched — he  call'd  in  vain,      [seen ; 

By  crag  and  combe*  nought  answering,  and  nought 
Return'd,  the  charger  long  refused  the  rein, 

Clinging,  poor  slave,  where  last  its  lord  had  been. 
At  length  the  slow  reluctant  hoofs  obey'd 
The  soothing  words ;  so  went  they  through  the  shade  : 

LXIX. 

Following  the  gorge  that  wound  the  Alpine  wall, 
Like  the  huge  fosse  of  some  Cyclopean  town, 

(While  roaring  round,  invisible  cataracts  fall)  ; 
On  the  black  rocks  twilight  comes  ghostly  down, 

And  deep  and  deeper  still  the  windings  go, 

And  dark  and  darker  as  to  worlds  below. 

LXX. 

Night  halts  the  course,  resumed  at  earliest  day, 
Through  day  pursued,  till  the  last  sunbeams  fell 

On  a  broad  mere  whose  margin  closed  the  way. 
Hark !  o'er  the  waters  swung  the  holy  bell 

From  a  gray  convent  on  the  rising  ground. 

Amidst  the  subject  hamlet  stretch'd  around. 

*  Combe   an  old  Saxon  word,   from   the  British   cwm — a  valo,  hullow,  passage 
between  lv\o  rocks. 


156  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXI. 

Here  while  both  man  and  steeds  the  welcome  rest 
Under  the  sacred  roof  of  Christ  receive, 

We  turn  once  more  to  yEgle  and  her  guest. 
Lo !  the  sweet  valley  and  the  flush  of  eve ! 

Lo !  side  by  side,  where  through  the  rose-arcade, 

Steals  the  love  star,  the  hero  and  the  maid ! 

LXXII. 

Silent  tliej^  gaze  into  each  other's  eyes. 
Stirring  the  inmost  soul's  unquiet  sleep ; 

So  pierce  soft  star-beams,  blending  wave  and  skies, 
Some  holy  fountain  tremljling  to  its  deep ! 

Bright  to  each  eye  each  human  heart  is  bare. 

And  scarce  a  thought  to  start  an  angel  there ! 

LXXIII. 

Love  to  the  soul,  whate'er  the  harsh  may  say. 
Is  as  the  hallowing  Naiad  to  the  well — 

The  linking  life  between  the  forms  of  clay 
And  those  ambrosia  nurtures ;  from  its  spell 

Fly  earth's  rank  fogs,  and  Thought's  ennobled  flow 

Shines  with  the  shape  that  glides  in  light  below. 

LXXIV. 

Taste  while  ye  may,  0  Beautiful !  the  brief 
Fruit,  life  but  once  wins  from  the  Beautiful ; 

Ripe  to  the  sun  it  l)lushes  from  the  leaf. 
Hear  not  the  blast  that  rises  while  ye  cull ; 

Brief  though  it  be,  how  few  in  after  hours 

Can  say,  "  at  least  the  Beautiful  was  ours !" 


BOOK    IV.  157 

LXXV. 

Two  loves  (and  both  divine  and  pure)  there  are ; 

One  by  the  roof-tree  takes  its  root  for  ever, 
Nor  tempests  rend,  nor  changeful  seasons  mar — 

It  clings  the  stronger  for  the  storm's  endeavour ; 
Beneath  its  shade  the  wayworn  find  their  rest, 
And  in  its  boughs  the  calm  bird  builds  its  nest. 

LXXVI. 

But  one  more  frail,  (in  that  more  prized,  perchance,) 
Bends  its  rich  blossoms  over  lonely  streams 

In  the  untrodden  ways  of  wild  Eomance, 

On  earth's  far  confines,  like  the  Tree  of  Dreams,* 

Few  find  the  path  ; — 0  bliss  !  0  woe  to  find  ! 

What  bliss  the  blossom  ! — ah  !  what  woe  the  wind  ! 

LXXVII. 

Oh  the  short  spring ! — the  eternal  winter ! — All 
Branch, — stem  all  shattered ;  fragile  as  the  bloom  ! 

Yet  this  the  love  that  charms  us  to  recall ; 
Life's  golden  holiday  before  the  tomb ; 

Yea !  tliis  the  love  which  age  again  lives  o'er. 

And  hears  the  heart  beat  loud  with  youth  once  more ! 

LXXVIII. 

Before  them,  at  the  distance  o'er  the  blue 
Of  the  SAveet  waves  which  girt  the  rosy  isle. 

Flitted  light  shapes  the  inw^oven  alleys  thro' : 
Kemotely  mellowed,  musical  the  while, 

Floated  the  hum  of  voices,  and  the  sweet 

Lutes  chimed  with  timbrels  to  dim-glancing  feet. 

*  "In  medio  ramos,''  &c. —  Virgil,  1.  vi.  282. 
'•An  elm  displays  her  dusky  arms  abroad, 
And  empty  dreams  on  every  leaf  are  spread." — Dryden. 


158  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXIX. 

The  calm  swan  rested  on  the  breathless  glass 
Of  dreamy  waters,  and  the  snow-white  steer 

Near  the  opposing  margin,  motionless, 

Stood,  knee-deep,  gazing  wistful  on  its  clear 

And  life-like  shadow,  shimmering  deep  and  far, 

Where  on  the  lucid  darkness  fell  the  star. 


LXXX. 

Near  them,  upon  its  lichen-tinted  base. 
Gleamed  one  of  those  fair  fancied  imai>:es 

Which  art  hath  lost — no  god  of  Id  an  race. 

But  the  Aving'd  symbol  which,  by  Caspian  seas, 

Or  Susa's  groves,  its  parable  addrest 

To  the  w^ild  faith  of  Iran's  Zendavest.* 


LXXXI. 

Light  as  the  soul,  whose  archetype  it  was, 
The  Genius  touch'd  yet  spurn'd  the  pedestal ; 

Behind,  the  foliage,  in  its  purple  mass. 
Shut  out  the  flush'd  horizon  -,  clasping  all, 

Nature's  hush'd  giants  stood  to  guard  and  girth 

The  only  home  of  peace  upon  the  earth. 

*  Zexiiavkst.  Compare  the  winjeJ  genius  of  the  Etrurians  with  the  Fcroher 
of  the  Persians,  in  the  sculptured  reUefs  of  PersepoHs.  (See  Heeren's  Historical 
Researches,  Art.  Persians.)  Micah,  vol.  ii.  p.  174,  points  out  some  points  of  simi- 
larity between  the  Persian  and  Etrurian  cosmogony.  It  may  be  here  observed,  by 
the  way,  that  it  was  peculiar  to  the  Ktrurians,  amongst  the  classic  nations  of  FjU- 
rope,  to  delineate  their  deities  with  wings.  Even  when  they  borrowed  some  Hel- 
lenic god,  they  still  invested  him  with  this  attribute,  so  especially  Eastern.  Not 
less  worth  noting  by  students  is  tlie  resemblance,  in  many  points,  between  the  Scan- 
dinavian and  Persian  mythology. 


BOOK     IT.  159 

LXXXII. 

And,  when,  at  last,  from  Ogle's  lips,  the  voice 
Came  solt  as  murmur'd  hymns  at  closing  day, 

The  sweet  sound  seem'd  the  sweet  air  to  rejoice — 
To  give  the  sole  charm  wanting, — to  convey 

The  crowning  music  to  the  Musical ; 

As  with  the  soul  of  love  infusing  all ! 

LXXXIII. 

And  to  the  Northman's  ear  that  antique  tongue. 
Which  from  the  Augur's  lips  fell  weird  and  cold, 

Seem'd  as  the  thread  in  fairy  tales,*  which  strung 
Enchanted  pearls,  won  from  the  caves  of  old, 

And  woven  round  a  sunbeam ; — so  was  wrought 

O'er  cordial  love  the  pure  and  delicate  thought.     . 

LXXXTV. 

She  spoke  of  youth's  lost  years,  so  lone  before, 

And  coming  to  the  present,  paused  and  blushed ; 
As  if  Time's  wing  were  spell-bound  evermore, 
•     And  Life,  the  restless,  in  the  hour  were  hushed : 
The  pause,  the  blush,  said,  more  than  words,  "  and  thou 
Art  found! — thou  lovest  me! — Fate  is  powerless  now!" 

LXXXV. 

That  hand  in  his — that  heart  his  own  entwininor 
With  its  life's  tendrils, — youth  his  pardoner  be. 

If  in  his  heaven  no  loftier  star  were  shining — 
If  round  the  haven  boom'd  unheard  the  sea — 

If  in  the  wreath  forgot  the  thorny  crown. 

And  the  harsh  duties  of  severe  renown. 

*  In  a  legend  of  Brctagne,  a  fairy  weaves  pearls  round  a  sunbeam,  to  convince 
her  lover  of  her  magical  powers. 


160  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXXVI. 

Blame  we  as  well  the  idlesse  of  a  dream, 
As  that  entranced  oblivion  from  the  reign 

Of  the  Great  Curse,  which  glares  in  every  beam 
Of  labouring  suns  to  the  stern  race  of  Cain ; 

So  life  from  earth  did  Nature  here  withdraw, 

That  the  strange  peace  seem'd  but  earth's  common  law. 

LXXXVII. 

Yet  some  excuse  all  stronger  spirits  take 

For  all  repose  from  toil  (to  strength  the  doom) 

How  sweet  in  that  fair  heathen  soil  to  wake 
The  living  palm  God  planted  on  the  tomb ! 

And  so,  and  long,  did  Passion's  subtle  art 

Mask  with  the  soul  the  impulse  of  the  heart. 

LXXXVIII. 

Wonderous  and  lovely  in  that  last  retreat 
Of  the  old  Gods, — the  simple  speech  to  hear 

Tell  of  the  Messenger  whose  beauteous  feet 
Had  gilt  the  mountain-tops  with  tidings  clear 

Of  veilless  Heaven — while  ^gle,  thoughtful,  said. 
This  love  makes  plain — ^yes,  love  can  ne'er  be  dead !" 


a 


LXXXIX. 

Now,  as  Night  gently  deepens  round  them,  while 
Oft  to  the  moon  upturn  their  happy  e^^es — 

Still,  hand  in  hand,  they  range  the  lulled  isle. 

Air  knows  no  breeze,  scarce  sighing  to  their  sighs ; 

No  bird  of  night  shrieks  bode  from  drowsy  trees, 

Nought  lives  between  them  and  the  Pleiades : 


BOOK    lY.  161 

xc. 

Save  where  the  moth  strains  to  the  moon  its  wing, 
Deeming  the  reachless  near ; — the  prophet  race 

Of  the  cold  stars  forewarn'd  them  not ;  the  Ring 
Of  great  Orion,  who  for  the  embrace 

Of  Morn's  sweet  Maid  had  died,*  look'd  calm  above 

The  last  unconscious  hours  of  human  love. 


xci. 
Each  astral  influence  unrevealing  shone 

O'er  the  dark  web  its  solemn  thread  en  wove ; 
Mars  shot  no  anger  from,  his  fatal  throne, 

No  beam  spoke  trouble  in  the  House  of  Love ; 
Their  closing  path  the  treacherous  smile  illumed ; 
And  the  stern  Star-kings  kiss'd  the  brows  thej  doom'd — 


XCII, 

'  T  is  morn  once  more ;  upon  the  shelving  green 
Of  the  small  isle,  alone  the  Cymrian  stood 

With  his  full  heart, — when  suddenly,  between 
Him  and  the  sun,  the  azure  solitude 

Was  broken  by  a  dark  and  rapid  wing, 

And  a  dusk  bird  swooped  downward  towards  the  King. 


*  Aurora.  The  scholar  will  remember  the  beautiful  use  Homer  makes  of  this 
fable  in  the  5th  Book  of  the  Odyssy.  Calypso  conaplaining  "  thai  the  Gods  afflict 
niO't  their  own  race,"  says — 

'♦  So  when  Aurora  sought  Orion's  love. 
Her  joys  disturbed  vour  blissful  hours  above, 
Till  in  Ortygia,  Dian's  winged  dart 
Had  pierced  the  hapless  hunter  to  the  heart." — Pope. 

11 


162  KING     ARTHUR. 

XCIII. 

And  tlie  King's  cheek  grew  pale,  for  well  to  Lim, 
(As  now  the  raven,  settlmg,  touch'd  his  feet,) 

Was  known  the  mystic  messenger : — where  grim 
O'er  hlack  Cwm  Idwal,*  demon  shadows  fleet 

Glassed  on  the  hosom  of  that  ghastly  mere, 

Where  never  wings  that  love  the  day  will  steer, 

XCIV. 

The  Prophet's  dauntless  childhood  stray 'd  and  found 
The  weird  hird  muttering  by  the  waves  of  dread  ; 

Three  days  and  nights  upon  the  haunted  ground 
The  raven's  beak  the  solemn  infant  fed : 

And  ever  after  (so  the  legend  ran) 

The  lone  bird  tended  on  that  lonely  man. 

xcv. 
O'er  the  Child's  brow  jorest  the  last  snows  of  age. 

As  fresh  the  lustrous  ebon  of  the  Bird, — 
Less  awe  had  credulous  horror  of  the  sage 

Than  that  familiar  by  the  Fiend  conferr'd — 
So  thought  the  crowd ;  nor  knew  what  holy  lore 
Lives  in  all  things  whose  instinct  is  to  soar. — 

XCVI. 

Hoarse  croaks  the  bird,  and  with  its  round  bright  eye. 

Fixes  the  gaze  of  the  recoiling  King ; 
Slowly  the  hand,  that  trembles,  cuts  the  tie 

That  binds  the  white  scroll  gleaming  from  the  wing, 
And  these  the  words,  "  Weak  Loiterer  from  tli}^  toil, 
The  Saxon's  march  is  on  thy  father's  soil." 

•  Cwm  Itlwal  (in  Snowtlonia).     "A  lit  place  to  inspire  murderous  thonghls, — 
environed  with  horrible  i)re(  ipiccs  shading  a  lake  lodgeil  in  its  bottom.     'J'he  shep- 


BOOK    lY.  163 

XCVII. 

Bounded  the  Prince ! — As  when  the  sudden  sun 
Looses  the  ice-chains  on  the  halted  rill, 

Smites  the  dumb  snow-mass,  and  the  cataracts  run 
In  molten  thunder  down  the  clanging  hill, 

So  from  his  heart  the  fetters  burst;  and  strong 

In  its  rough  course  the  great  soul  rush'd  along. 

XCVIII. 

As  looks  a  warrior  on  the  fort  he  scales, 

Sweeps  his  broad  glance  around  the  eternal  steeps — 
Not  there  escape  ! — the  wildest  fancy  quails 

Before  those  heights  on  which  the  whitening  deeps 
Of  measureless  heaven  repose  : — below  their  frown. 
Planed  as  a  wall,  sheers  the  smooth  granite  down. — 

xcix. 

Marvel,  indeed,  how  even  the  enchanted  wing 
Had  o'er  such  rampires  won  to  the  abode ; 

But  not  for  marvel  paused  the  kindled  King, 
Swift,  as  Pelides  stung  to  war,  he  strode ; 

While  the  dark  herald,  with  its  sullen  scream, 

Rose,  and  fled,  dismal  as  an  evil  dream. 

c. 

Carved  as  for  Love — a  slender  boat  rock'd  o'er 
The  ripple  with  the  murmuring  marge  at  play, 

He  loosed  its  chain,  he  gain'd  the  adverse  shore, 
Startled  the  groups  that  fluttered  round  his  way, 

Awed  by  the  knitted  brow  and  flashing  eyes 

Of  him  they  deeni'd  the  native  of  the  skies. 

herds'  fable  that  it  is  the  haunt  of  demons,  and  that  no  bird  dare  fly  over  its  damned 
waters.'' — Pennant,  v.  iii.  p.  324. 


164  KING    ARTHUR. 

CI. 

Towards  the  far  temple,  thro'  whose  tomb-like  door 
First  he  had  pass'd  into  the  Elysian  Land, 

He  strode — when  suddenly,  he  saw  before 

His  j)ath  the  seated  priest ; — with  earnest  hand 

Turning  strange  lettered  scrolls  upon  his  knee ; 

While  o'er  him  spread  the  platan's  murmuring  tree  :- 

ClI. 

On  his  mysterious  leisure  broke  the  cry 
Of  the  imperious  Northman,  "  Rise,  unbar 

Your  granite  gates — the  eagle  seeks  the  sky, 
The  captive  freedom,  and  the  warrior  w^ar !" 

Slow  rose  the  Augur,  and  this  answer  gave, 

"  Man,  see  thy  world — its  outlet  is  the  grave ! 

cm. 
"  What !  dost  thou  think  us  so  in  love  with  fear, 

That  of  our  peace  we  should  confide  the  key  ? 
Tina  hath  closed  the  gates  of  Janus  here. 

Shall  we  expand  them  ? — never !"     Scornfully 
He  turn'd — but  thrill'd  wdth  priestly  wrath  to  feel 
His  sacred  arm  lock'd  in  a  grasp  of  steel. 

CIV. 

"  Trifle  not,  host, — Fate  calls  me  to  depart ; 

On  my  shamed  soul  a  prophet's  voice  hath  cried ! 
Thy  secret ! — tliat  is  safer  in  the  heart 

Of  a  true  Man  than  in  an  Alp."— ^'  Thy  bride  ?" 
Said  the  pale  Augur — "  A  true  man,  forsooth  ! 
What  says  wrong'd  ^Egle,  boaster,  of  thy  truth  ?" 


BOOK    IV.  165 

cv. 
"  Let  yEgle  answer,"  cried  the  noble  lover ; 

"  Let  ^gle  judge  the  trust  I  hold  from  Heaven. 
I  faithless  ! — I !  a  King  ? — my  labours  over, 

From  mine  own  soil  the  surge  of  carnage  driven, 
And  I  will  come,  as  kings  should  come,  to  claim 
Mates  for  the  throne,  and  partners  for  the  fame !" — 

cvi. 
Long  mused  the  AugUi',  and  at  length  replied. 

His  guile  scarce  mask'd  in  his  malignant  gaze, 
"  Well,  guest — thy  fate  thine  ^gle  shall  decide — 

Then,  if  still  wearied  of  untroubled  days — 
No  more  from  Mantu  Pales  shall  controuP 
And  one  free  gate  shall  open  on  thy  soul !" 

CVII. 

He  said,  and  drew  his  large  robe  round  his  form, 
And  wrathful  swept  along,  as  o'er  the  sky 

A  cloud  sw^eeps  dark,  secret  with  hoarded  storm ; 
Behind  him  went  the  guest  as  silently ; 

Afar  the  gazing  wonders  wdiispered,  while 

They  crossed  the  girdling  wave  and  reach'd  the  isle. 

CVIII. 

With  violet  buds,  bright  ^gle,  in  her  bower. 
Knits  the  dark  riches  of  her  lustrous  hair ; 

Her  heart  springs  eager  to  the  counted  hour 
When  to  loved  eyes  't  is  glorious  to  be  fair : 

Gleams  of  a  neck,  proud  as  the  swan's,  escape 

The  light-spun  tunic  rounded  to  the  shape. 

*  Mintu,  the  God  of  the  Shades— Pales,  the  Pastoral  Deity. 


166  KING    ARTHUR. 

cix. 

Now  from  the  locks  the  airy  veil,  dividing 

Falls,  and  floats  fragrant,  from  the  violet  crown. 

What  happy  thought  is  in  that  breast  presiding 
Like  some  serenest  bird  that  settles  down 

(Its  w^anderings  over)  on  calm  summer  eves 

Into  its  nest,  amid  .the  secret  leaves  ? 

ex. 

What  happy  thought  in  those  large  tranquil  eyes 
Seems  prescient  of  the  eternity  of  love? 

The  fixed  content  in  conquered  destinies 
Which  makes  the  being  of  the  lives  above, 

Which  from  itself,  as  from  the  starred  sphere. 

Weaves  round  its  own  melodious  atmosphere  ? 

CXI. 

Who  ever  gazed  on  perfect  happiness. 
Nor  felt  it  as  the  shadow  cast  from  God  ? 

It  seems  so  still  in  its  sublime  excess. 

So  brings  all  heaven  around  its  hush'd  abode, 

That  in  its  very  beauty  awe  has  birth, 

Dismay'd  by  too  much  glory  for  the  earth. 

CXII. 

Across  the  threshold  now  abruptly  strode 

Her  youth's  stern  guardian.     ''  Child  of  Rasena," 

He  said,  "  the  lover  on  thy  youth  bestowed 
For  the  last  time  on  earth  thine  eyes  survey, 

Unless  thy  })ower  can  chain  the  faithless  breast, 

And  sated  bliss  deigns  gracious  to  be  blest." 


BOOK    IV.  167 

CXIII. 

"  Not  so !"  cried  Arthur,  as  his  loyal  kuee 

Bent  to  the  earth,  and  with  the  knightly  truth 

Of  his  right  hand  he  clasped  her  own ; — "  to  be 
Thine  evermore ;  youth  mingled  with  thy  youth, 

Age  with  thine  age  ;  in  thy  grave  mine  ;  above, 

Spirit  beside  thy  spirit ; — this  the  love 

cxiv. 

"  God  teacheth  man  to  pray  for !     Oft  thy  smile 
Shone  o'er  me,  telling  of  great  Knighthood's  vow. 

Faith  without  stain,  and  honour  without  guile. 

To  guard.     Sweet  lady,  trust  to  Knighthood  now !" 

Hurrying  his  words  rush'd  on ;  the  threatened  land, 

The  fates  confided  to  the  sceptred  hand, 

cxv. 

Here  gathering  w^oes,  and  there  suspended  toil ; 

And  the  stern  warning  from  the  distant  seer. 
"  Thine  be  my  people — thine  this  bleeding  soil ; 

Queen  of  my  realm,  its  groaning  murmurs  hear ! 
Then  ask  thyself,  what  manhood's  choice  should  be; 
False  to  my  country,  were  I  worthy  thee  ?" 

cxvr. 

Dim  through  her  struggling  sense  the  light  came  slow, 
Struck  from  those  words  of  fire.     Alas,  poor  child  ! 

What,  in  thine  isle  of  roses,  shouldst  thou  know 
Of  earth's  grave  duties  ?— of  that  stormy  wild 

Of  care  and  carnage — the  relentless  strife 

Of  man  with  happinesS;  and  soul  with  life  ? 


168  KING    ARTE  UK. 

ex  VI  I. 

Tliou  wlio  liaclst  seen  the  sun  but  rise  and  set 

O'er  one  Saturnian  Arcacly  of  rest, 
Snatch'd  from  the  age  of  Iron  ?  Ever,  yet, 

Dwells  that  high  instinct  in  each  nobler  breast, 
Which  truth,  like  light,  intuitive  receives. 
And  what  the  Reason  grasps  not,  Faith  believes. 

CXVITT. 

So  in  mute  woe,  one  hand  to  his  resign'd, 

And  one  press'd  firmly  on  her  swelling  heart, 

Passive  she  heard,  and  in  her  labouring  mind 

Strove  with  the  dark  enigma — "  part ! — to  part !" 

Till,  having  solved  it  by  the  beams  that  broke 

From  that  clear  soul  on  hers,  struggling  she  spoke : — 

CXIX. 

"  Trust — trust  in  thee  ! — but  no,  I  will  not  weep  ! 

What  thou  deem'st  good  is  the  sole  good  to  me. 
Let  my  heart  l^reak,  before  thy  heart  it  keep 

From  aught,  which  lost,  could  give  a  pang  to  thee. 
Thou  speak'st  of  dread  and  terror,  strife  and  woe  ; 
And  I  might  wonder  why  they  tempt  thee  so ; 

cxx. 

"  And  I  might  ask  how  more  can  mortals  please 
The  heavens,  than  thankful  to  enjoy  the  earth  ? 

But  through  its  mist  my  soul,  though  faintly,  sees 
Where  thine  sweeps  on  beyond  tliis  mountain  girth, 

And,  awed  and  dazzled,  bending  T  confess 

Life  may  have  holier  ends  than  happiness ! 


BOOK    IV.  169 

cxxi. 

''  For  something  bright  and  high  thyself  without, 
Thou  makest  thy  heart  an  offering ;  so  my  heart 

Could  sacrifice  to  thee  !     Then  wherefore  doubt 
There  are  to  thy  soul  what  to  mine  thou  art  ?" 

She  paused  and  raised  her  earnest  eyes  above, 

Bright  with  the  trust  devotion  breathes  in  love. 

CXXII. 

Then  as  she  felt  his  tears  upon  her  hand, 

Earth  call'd  her  back ; — o'er  him  her  face  she  bow'd : 

As  when  the  silver  gates  of  heaven  expand, 
And  on  the  earth  descends  the  melting  cloud, 

So  sunk  the  spirit  from  sublimer  air. 

And  all  the  woman  rush'd  on  her  despair. 

CXXTII. 

"  To  lose  thee — oh,  to  lose  thee  !     To  live  on 

And  see  the  sun — not  thee !     Will  the  sun  shine, 

Will  the  birds  sing,  flowers  bloom,  wdien  thou  art  gone  ? 
Desolate,  desolate  !     Thy  right  hand  in  mine. 

Swear,  \yy  the  Past,  thou  wilt  return ! — Oh,  say, 

Say  it  again  !" — voice  died  in  sobs  away  ! 

cxxrv. 
Mute  look'd  the  Augur,  with  his  deathful  eyes. 

On  the  last  anguish  of  their  lock'd  embrace. 
•^  Priest,"  cried  the  lover,  "  canst  thou  deem  this  prize 

Lost  to  my  future  ? — No,  tho'  round  the  place 
Yon  Alps  took  life,  with  all  your  rites  obey 
Of  demon  legions.  Love  would  force  the  way. 


170  KING    ARTHUR. 

• 

"  Hear  me,  adored  one  !"     On  the  silent  ear 

The  promise  fell,  and  o'er  the  unconscious  frame 

Wound  the  protecting  arm. — '^  Since  neither  fear 
Of  the  great  Powers  thou  dost  blaspheming  name, 

Nor  the  soft  impulse  native  in  man's  heart 

Kestrains  thee,  doom'd  one — hasten  to  depart. 

CXXVI. 

"  Come,  in  thy  treason  merciful  at  least, 

Come,  while  those  eyes  by  Sleep  the  Pityer  bound, 

See  not  thy  shadow  pass  from  earth !" — The  priest 
Spoke, — and  now  call'd  the  infant  handmaids  round  -, 

But  o'er  that  form  with  arms  that  vainly  cling, 

And  words  that  idly  comfort,  kneels  the  King. 

CXXVII. 

"  Nay,  nay,  look  up  !  It  is  these  arms  that  fold ; — 
I  still  am  here ; — this  hand,  these  tears,  are  mine." 

Then,  when  they  sought  to  loose  her  from  his  hold, 
He  waived  them  back  with  a  fierce  jealous  sign ; 

O'er  her  hush'd  breath  his  listening  ear  he  bow'd, 

And  the  awed  children  round  him  wept  aloud. 

CXXVTII. 

But  when  the  soul  broke  faint  from  its  eclipse, 
And  his  own  name  came,  shaping  life's  first  sigh, 

His  very  heart  seem'd  breaking  in  the  lips 

Press'd  to  those  faithful  ones ; — then,  tremblingly. 

He  rose ; — he  moved; — he  paused ; — his  nerveless  liand 

Veil'd  the  dread  agony  of  man  unmanned. 


BOOK    IV.  171 

CXXIX. 

Thus,  from  the  chamber,  as  an  infant  meek 

The  priest's  weak  arm  led  forth  the  mighty  King ; 

In  vain  wide  air  came  fresh  upon  his  cheek, 
Passive  he  went  in  his  great  sorrowing ; 

Hate,  the  mute  guide, — the  waves  of  death,  the  goal ; — 

So,  following  Hermes,  glides  to  Styx  a  soul. 


NOTES  TO  EOOK  IV. 


1  "  Like  that  in  which  the  fur  Saroiiides 

Exchano-ed  dark  riddles  with  the  Samian  sag-e/' 

rage  139,  stanza  xi. 

DioDORUS  SicuLUs  speaks  with  great  respect  of  the  Saro- 
NiDES  as  the  Druid  priest  of  Gaul.*  Pythagoras  and  the  Druids 
held  similar  notions  as  to  the  transmigration  of  souls,  and  other 
intricate  points  of  Heathen  theology.  For  the  initiation  of  this 
very  legendary  philosopher  (whose  name  sometimes  represents 
a  personage  genuinely  historical — sometimes  a  sect  partly  scho- 
lastic, partly  political)  into  the  Druid  mysteries,  see  Clem.  Alex. 
Strom.  L.  i.  Ex.  Alex.  Polyhist.  It  will  be  observed  that  the 
author  here  takes  advantage  of  the  well-known  assertions  of 
many  erudite  authorities  that  the  Phcenician  language  is  the 
parent  of  the  Celtic,  in  order  to  obtain  a  channel  of  oral  com- 
munication between  Arthur   and  the  Etrurian  ;*  though,   con- 

*  Mr.  Davis,  in  his  Celtic  Researches,  insists  upon  it  that  Saronides  is  a  British 
word,  compounded  from  s^r,  stars  ;  and  honydd,  "  one  who  discriminates  or  points 
out;"  in  fine,  according  to  him  the  Saronides  are  Seronyddion,  i.  e.  astronomers. 

■j-  It  may  perhaps  occur  to  the  reader  that  Latin,  with  which  Arthur  (in  an  age 
so  shortly  subsequent  to  the  Iloman  occupation  of  Britain)  could  scarcely  fail  to 
he  well  acijuainted,  might  have  furnished  a  belter  mode  of  communication  between 
himself  and  the  Augur.  But  the  Latin  language  would  have  been  very  jmper- 
fectly  settled  at  the  time  of  the  supposed  Etrurian  eniigration  ;  would  have  liad  no 
connexion  with  the  literature,  sacred  or  profane,  of  the  Etrurians ;  and  would  long 
have  been  despised  as  a  rude  medley  of  various  tongues  and  dialects,  by  the  proud 
and  polished  race  which  the  Romans  subjected. 


NOTES    TO    BOOK    lY.  17 


Q 


tented  with  those  authorities,  as  sufficing  for  all  poetic  purpose, 
he  prudently  declines  entering  into  a  controversy  equally  abstruse 
and  interminable,  as  to  the  affinity  between  the  countrymen  of 
Dido  and  the  scattered  remnants  of  the  Briton.  Arthur,  with 
that  generous  pride  of  descent  which  characterizes  his  people, 
takes  care,  in  a  subsequent  passage,  to  insinuate  that  the  Cyn,- 
rians  taught  the  Phoenicians  to  speak  Welch — not  that  they 
taught  the  Welch  to  speak  Phoenician ;  this  hero  is  always 
tenacious  of  the  honour  of  his  country !  It  is  not  surprising 
that  the  Augur  should  know  Phoenician,  for  we  have  only  to 
suppose  that  he  maintained,  as  well  as  he  could  in  his  retreat, 
the  knowledge  common  with  his  priestly  forefathers.  The  in- 
tercourse between  Etruria  and  the  Phoenician  states,  (especially 
Carthage),  was  too  considerable  not  to  have  rendered  the  lan- 
guage of  the  last  familiar  to  the  learning  of  the  first,  to  say 
nothing  of  those  more  disputable  affinities  of  origin  and  reli- 
gion, which,  if  existing,  would  have  made  an  acquaintance 
with  Phoenician  necessary  to  the  solution  of  their  historical 
chronicles  and  sacred  books.  Nor,  w^hen  the  Augur  afterwards 
assures  Arthur  that  Mgle  also  understands  Phoenician,  is  any 
extravagant  demand  made  upon  the  credulity  of  the  indulgent 
reader ;  for  those  who  have  consulted  such  lights  as  research 
has  thrown  upon  Etrurian  records,  are  aware  that  their  more 
high-born  women  appear  to  have  received  no  ordinary  mental 
cultivation. 

2    "0,  guttural-grumbling,  and  disYowelled  man." 

Page  141,  stanza  xvii. 

The  Etrurian  here  insinuates  a  charge  very  common,  but  sin- 
gularly unjust,  against  the  Welch  language.  Want  of  vowels 
is  certainly  not  the  fault  of  that  tongue,  though  it  must  be  owned 
that  it  often  appears  so  to  an  uninitiated  ear.  Owen,  in  his 
Welch  grammar,  proposes  to  English  jaws  the  following  some- 
w^hat  hard  nut  to  crack — "  Gwaewawr."  Now,  as  I  before 
remarked,  the  w  is  a  vowel  answering  to  our  oo,  and  the  word 
may  therefore  be  written  ^*  Gooaeooaoor."  Will  any  candid 
man  sav  there  are  not  vowels  enoup-h  there? 


174  KING    ARTHUR. 

3  "  Ah,"  said  the  Augur,  "here,  I  comprehend, 
^gypt,  and  Tvphun,  and  the  serpent  creed." 

Page  143,  stanza  xxii. 

It  is  clear  that  all  which  the  poor  bewildered  Augur  could 
comprehend,  from  the  theological  relations  with  w^hich  Arthur 
(no  doubt  with  equal  glibness  and  obscurity)  relieves  his  histo- 
rical narrative,  would  be  that,  in  "  worsting  Satan,"  the  Em- 
peror of  Greece  is  demolishing  the  Typhon  worship  of  the  Egyp- 
tians, and  enforcing  the  adoration  of  the  Dorian  Apollo — that 
deity  who  had  passed  a  probation  on  earth,  and  expiated  a  mys- 
terious sin  by  descending  to  the  shades;  and  it  would  require  a 
more  erudite  teacher  than  we  can  presume  Arthur  to  be  before 
the  Augur  would  cease  to  confuse  with  the  Pagan  divinity  the 
Divine  Foun  ler  of  the  Christian  gospel.  Such  confusion  existed 
long  among  the  heathens,  and  to  this  day  the  sabbath  of  the 
Christians  retains  its  Pagan  appellation,  "The  day  of  our  Lord 
the  Sun." 


KING    ARTHUR. 


BOOK    V. 


ARGUMENT. 

The  council-hall  hi  Carduel ;  The  twelve  knif»hts  of  the  round  Tal>le  de- 
scribed, viz.,  the  three  Knij^hts  of  Council,  the  three  Knights  of  Battle, 
the  three  Knights  of  Eloquence,  and  the  three  Lovers ;  Merlin  warns 
the  chiefs  of  the  coming  Saxons,  and  enjoins  the  fire  beacons  to  be  light- 
ed ;  The  story  returns  to  Arthur ;  the  dove  has  not  been  absent,  though 
unseen  ;  It  comes  back  to  Arthur ;  The  priest  leads  the  King  through 
the  sepulchral  valley  into  the  temple  of  the  Death-god ;  Description  of 
the  entrance  of  the  temple,  with  the  walls  on  which  is  depicted  the  pro- 
gress of  the  guilty  soul  through  the  realms  below ;  The  cave,  the  raft, 
and  the  stream  which  conducts  to  the  cataract;  Arthur  enters  the  boat, 
and  the  dove  goes  before  him ;  ^Egle  awakes  from  her  swoon,  and  follows 
the  King  to  the  temple ;  Her  dialogue  with  the  Augur ;  She  disappears 
in  the  stream  ;  MeauAvhile  Lancelot  wanders  in  the  valleys  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Alps,  and  is  led  to  the  cataract  by  the  magic  ring ;  The  ap- 
parition of  the  dove ;  He  follows  the  bird  up  the  skirts  of  the  cataract ; 
He  finds  Arthur  and  iEgle,  and  conveys  them  to  the  convent:  The  Chris- 
tian hymn  and  the  Etrurian  dirge  ;  iirthur  and  Lancelot  seated  by  the 
lake ;  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  appears  in  her  pinnace  to  Lancelot ;  The 
King's  sight  is  purged  from  its  film  by  the  bitter  herb,  and  he  enters  the 
magic  bark. 


BOOK   V. 


I. 

In  the  high  Council  Hall  of  Carduel, 
Beside  the  absent  Arthur's  ivory  throne, 

(What  time  the  earlier  shades  of  evening  fell), 
Wan-silvering  through  the  hush,  the  cresset  shone 

O'er  the  arch  seer, — as,  mid  the  magnates  there, 

Rose  his  large  front  august  with  prophet  care ; 

11. 

Rose  his  large  front  above  the  luminous  guests, 
The  deathless  twelve  of  that  Heroic  Ring, 

Which,  as  the  belt  wherein  the  Orion  rests, 
Girded  w^itli  subject  stars  the  starry  king  • 

Without,  strong  towers  guard  Rome's  elaborate  wall ; 

Within  is  manhood ! — strongest  tower  of  all. 

III. 

First,  Muse  of  Cymri,  name  the  Council  Three^' 
Who,  of  maturer  years  and  graver  mien. 

Wise  in  the  past,  conceived  the  things  to  be, 

And  temper'd  impulse  quick  with  thought  serene ; 

Nor  young,  nor  old — no  dupes  to  rushing  Hope, 

Nor  narrowing  to  tame  Fear  th'  ignoble  scope. 

*  Three  counselling  knights  were  in  the  court  of  Arthur,  which  were  Cynon, 
the  son  of  Clydno  Eiddin,  Aron  the  son  of  Kynfarch  ap  Meirchion-gul,  and  iJy- 

12 


178  KING    APwTHUR. 

IV. 

Of  these  was  Cynon  of  the  highborn  race, 
A  cold  but  dauntless — calm  but  earnest  man ; 

With  deep  eyes  shining  from  a  thoughtful  face, 
And  spare  slight  form,  for  ever  in  the  van 

When  ripening  victories  crown'd  laborious  deeds ; 

Reaper  of  harvest — sower  not  of  seeds ; 

V. 

For  scarcely  his  the  quick  far-darting  soul 

Which  like  Apollo's  shaft,  strikes  lifeless  things 

Into  divine  creation ;  but,  the  whole 

Once  rife,  the  skill  which  into  concord  brings 

The  jarring  parts ;  shapes  out  the  rudely  wrought. 

And  calls  the  action  living  from  the  thought. 

VI. 

Next  Aron  see — not  rash,  yet  gaily  bold, 
With  the  frank  polish  of  chivalric  courts ; 

Him  from  the  right,  no  fear  of  wrong  controul'd ; 
And  toil  he  deem'd  the  sprightliest  of  his  sports ; 

O'er  War's  dry  chart,  or  Wisdoms  mystic  page, 

Alike  as  smiling,  and  alike  as  sage ; 

VII. 

With  the  warm  instincts  of  the  knightly  heart 
That  rose  at  once  if  insult  touch'd  the  realm. 

He  spurn'd  each  state-craft,  each  deceiving  art, 
And  rode  to  war,  no  vizor  to  his  helm ; 

This  proved  his  worth,  this  line  his  tomb  may  boast — 

^  Who  hated  Cymri,  hated  Aron  most !' 

warch  hen  the  son  of  Elidir  Lydanwyn,  <Src. — Note  in  Lady  Charlotte  Gucft's  cdi- 
fon  of  the  Mubinocrion,  vol.  i.  p.  93.  In  the  text,  for  the  sake  of  euphony  to 
English  ears,  for  the  name  of  Lly  warch  is  substituted  that  of  his  father  Elidir. 


BOOK  y.  179 

VIII. 

But  who  with  eastern  hue  and  haughty  brow, 
Stern  with  dark  beauty  sits  apart  from  all  ? 

Ah,  couldst  thou  shun  thy  friends,  Elidir ! — thou 
Scorning  all  foes,  before  no  foe  shalt  fall ! 

On  thy  wronged  grave  one  hand  appeasing  lays 

The  humble  flower — oh,  could  it  yield  the  bays ! 

IX. 

Courts  may  have  known  than  thou  a  readier  tool, 
States  may  have  found  than  thine  a  subtler  brain. 

But  States  shall  honour  many  a  formal  fool, 
And  many  a  tawdry  fawner  courts  may  gain 

Ere  King  or  People  in  their  need  shall  see 

A  soul  as  grand  as  that  which  fled  with  thee ! 

X. 

For  thou  wert  more  than  true ;  thou  Avert  a  Truth ! 

Open  as  Truth,  and  yet  as  Truth  profound ; 
Thy  fault  was  genius — that  eternal  youth 

Whose  weeds  but  prove  the  richness  of  the  ground — 
And  dull  men  envied  thee,  and  false  men  feared, 
And  where  soared  genius,  there  convention  sneer'd. 


XI. 

Ah,  happy  hadst  thou  fallen,  foe  to  foe. 

The  bright  race  run — the  laurel  o'er  thy  grave ! 

But  hands  perfidious  strung  the  ambush  bow, 
And  the  friend's  shaft  the  ranklino;  torture  srave- 

The  last  proud  wish  its  agony  to  hide, 

The  stricken  deer  to  covert  crept  and  died. 


180  KING    ARTHUR. 

XII. 

Next  came  tlie  warrior  Three.*  Of  glory's  cliarms 
(Glory,  the  bride  of  heroes)  nobly  vain 

Dark  Mona's  Owainef  shines  with  golden  arms, 
The  Roland  of  the  Cvmrian  Charlemain, 

Scathed  by  the  storm  the  holy  chief  survives, 

For  Fame  makes  holy  all  its  lightning  rives. 

XIII. 

Beside,  with  simplest  garb  and  sober  mien, 

Solid  as  iron,  not  yet  wrought  to  steel. 
In  his  plain  manhood  Cornwall's  chiefj  is  seen, 

Who  (if  wild  tales  some  glimpse  of  truth  reveal) 
Gave  Northern  standards  to  the  Indian  sun — 
And  wreaths  from  palms  that  shaded  Evian  won. 

XIV. 

Lo  he  whose  fame  outshines  the  Fabulous ! 

Sublime  with  eagle  front,  and  that  gray  crown 
Which  Age,  the  arch-priest,  sets  on  laurell'd  brows ; 

Lo,  Geraint,  bending  with  a  world's  renown ! 
Yet  those  gray  hairs  one  ribald  scoffer  found ; — 
The  moon  sways  ocean  and  provokes  the  hound. 

•  Three  knights  of  battle  vpere  in  the  court  of  Arthur;  Cadwr  the  Earl  of  Corn- 
wall, Lancelot  du  Lac,  and  Owaine  the  son  of  Urien  Rheged  ;  and  this  was  their 
characteristic,  that  they  would  not  retreat  from  battle,  neither  for  spear,  nor  for 
arrow,  nor  for  sword  ;  and  Arthur  never  had  shame  in  battle  the  day  he  saw  their 
faces  there,  &c.—Ladi/  C.  Guest's  Mabinoi^.  vol.  i.  p.  91.  In  the  poem,  for  Lan- 
celot of  the  Lake,  whose  fame  is  not  yet  supposed  to  be  matured,  is  substituted  the 
famous  Geraint,  the  hero  of  a  former  generation. 

t  Owaine's  birth-place  and  domains  are  variously  surmised  ;  in  the  text  they  are 
ascribed  to  Mona,  (Anglesey)  St.  Palayc,  concurrently  both  with  French  fabliasts 
and  Welch  bards,  makes  this  hero  very  fond  of  the  pomp  and  blazonry  of  arms,  and 
attributes  to  him  the  introduction  of  buckles  to  spurs,  furred  mantles,  and  the  use 
of  gloves.  I   Cadwr. 


BOOK    y.  181 

XV. 

Next  the  three  chiefs  of  Eloquence  j"^'  the  kings  [mmd, 
Whose  hosts  are  thoughts,  whose  reahn  the  human 

Who  out  of  words  evoke  the  souls  of  things, 
And  shape  the  lofty  drama  of  mankind ; 

Wit  charms  the  fancy,  wisdom  guides  the  sense ; 

To  make  men  nobler — tliat  is  Eloquence  ! 

xvr. 
As  from  the  Mount  of  Gold,  auriferous  flows 

The  Lydian  wave,  thy  pomp  of  period  shines 
Resplendent  Drydas — glittering  as  it  goes 

High  from  the  mount,  but  labouring  thro'  the  mines, 
x\nd  thence  the  tides,  enriching  while  they  run. 
Glass  every  fruit  that  ripens  to  the  sun. 

XVII. 

But,  like  the  vigour  of  a  Celtic  stream. 
Comes  Lolod's  rush  of  manly  sense  along, 

Fresh  with  the  sparkles  of  a  healthful  beam. 
And  quick  with  impulse  like  a  poet's  song. 

How  listening  crowds  that  knightly  voice  delights — 

If  from  those  crowds  are  banished  all  but  knights ! 

XVIII. 

The  third,  though  young,  well  worthy  of  his  place. 
Was  Gawaine,  courteous,  blithe,  and  debonnair, 

Arch  Mercury's  wit,  with  careless  Cupid's  face ; 
Frank  as  the  sun,  but  searching  as  the  air, 

Who  with  bland  parlance  prefaced  doughtiest  blows, 

And  mildly  arguing— argiiing  brain'd  his  fqes, 

*  There  were  three  golden  tongued  knights  in  the  court  of  Arthur — Gwalchrnai 
(Gawaine),  Drudwas  (Drydas  in  the  text),  and  Eliwlod  (Lolod)  Lady  C.  GutbCs 
Mabinog.  note  vol.  i.  p.  118, 


182  KING    ARTHUR. 

XIX. 

Next  came  the  Three — in  mystic  Triads  hight 

"  The   Knights   of  Loye  ;"*  some   type  the  name 
conveys, 

For  where  no  lover,  there  methinks  no  knight ; 
All  knights  were  lovers  in  King  Arthur's  days : 

Caswallawn ;  Trystan  of  the  lion  rock  ;-j- 

And,  leaning  on  his  harp,  calm  Caradoc ! 


XX. 

Thus  class'd,  distinct  in  peace, — let  war  dismay, 

Straight  in  one  bond  the  divers  natures  blend- 
So  varying  tints  in  tranquil  sunshine  play. 

But  form  one  iris  if  the  rains  descend ; 
And,  fused  in  Hght  against  the  clouds  that  lower, 
Forbid  the  deluge  while  they  own  the  shower ! 


XXI. 

On  the  bright  group  the  Prophet  rests  his  gaze. 
Then  the  deep  voice  sonorous  thrills  aloud — 

"  In  Carduel's  vale  the  steers  unheeded  graze. 
To  jocund  winds  the  yellowing  corn  is  bow'd. 

By  hearths  of  mirth  the  waves  of  Isca  flow. 

And  Heaven  above  smiles  down  on  peace  below. 


*  The  three  ardent  lovers  of  the  island  of  Britain — Caswallawn,  Tristan,  and 
Cynon,  (for  the  last,  already  placed  amongst  the  counselling  knights,  Caradoc  is 
substituted). — Laclif  C.  Guest's  Mnbinog,  vol.  i.  note  to  page  94. 

I  Trystan's  birth-place,  Lyonness,  is  supposed  to  have  been  that  part  of  Cornwall 
since  destroyed  by  the  sea.     See  Southey's  note  to  Morte  d'Arlhur,  vol.  ii.  p.  477. 


BOOK  y.  183 


o 


XXII. 

^'  But  far  looks  forth  the  warder  from  the  tower, 
And  to  the  halls  of  Cj^mri's  antique  kings 

A  soul  that  sees  the  future  m  the  hour 
The  desolation  of  its  burthen  brings ; 

Hollow  sounds  earth  beneath  the  clanging  tread  : 

Yon  fields  shall  yield  no  harvest  but  the  Dead ! 

XXIII. 

^^  And  waves  shall  rush  in  crimson  to  the  deep, 
The  Meteor  Horse  shall  pale  autumnal  skies- — 

From  Rauran's"^  lairs  the  jojous  wolves  shall  leap — 
From  EiFLE'sf  crags  the  screaming  eagles  rise- — 

Yea !  while  I  speak,  these  halls  the  havoc  nears ! 

Ked  sets  the  sun  behind  the  storm  of  spears  ! 

XXIV. 

"  The  Sons  of  Woden  sound  no  tromp  before 

Their  march  !    No  herald  comes  their  war  to  tell ! 

No  plea  for  slaughter,  dress'd  in  clerkly  lore, 

Makes  death  seem  justice!  As  the  rain  clouds  swell. 

When  air  is  stillest,  in  Bal  Huan'sJ  halls ; 

The  herbage  waves  not  till  the  tempest  falls ! 

XXV. 

"  Of  old  je  know  them  ;  ye  the  elect  remains 
Of  perish'd  rac^ — rock-saved ;  anchoring  here 

The  ark  of  empire  !     For  your  latest  fanes. 
For  your  last  hearths,  for  all  to  freemen  dear. 

And  to  God  sacred ;  take  the  shield  and  brand  ! 

Accurst  each  Cymrian  who  survives  his  land !" 

*  Aran — called  Rauran  by  Spenser,  who  makes  it  the  place  of  Arthur's  eiluca- 
tion  under  Timon  ; 

"Under  the  foot  of  Rauran  mossy  hore." 
•j-  More  correctly  Yr  Eifl,  or  Reifel,  in  Caernarvonshire.  ^  The  Sun. 


184  KIXG    ARTHUR. 

XXVI. 

"  Accurst  each  Cvmrian  who  survives  his  land  !'^ 
Echoed  deep  tones,  hollow  as  blasts  escaped 

From  Boreal  caverns,  and  in  every  hand 

The  hilts  of  swords  to  sainted  croziers  shaped 

Were  grimly  griped — as  by  that  symbol  sign 

Hallowing  the  human  wrath  to  war  divine. 

XXVII. 

The  Prophet  mark'd  the  deep  unci  amorous  vow 
Of  the  pent  passion ;  and  the  morning  light 

Of  young  Humanity  flash'd  o'er  the  brow 

Dark  with  that  wisdom  which,  like  Nature's  night, 

Communes  with  stars  and  dreams;  it  flash'd  and  waned 

And  the  vast  front  its  awful  hush  regain'd. 

XXVIII. 

''  Princes,  I  am  but  as  a  voice ;  be  you 

As  deeds !    The  wind  comes  through  the  hollow  oak, 
And  stirs  the  green  woods  that  it  wanders  through. 

Now  wafts  the  seeds,  now  wings  the  levin  stroke. 
Now  kindles  now  destroys ; — that  Wind  am  I, 
Homeless  on  earth ;  the  mystery  of  the  sky ! 

XXIX. 

"  But  when  the  wind  in  noiseless  air  hath  sunk. 
Behold  the  sower  tends  and  rears  the  seeds ; 

Behold  the  woodman  shapes  the  fallen  trunk ; 

The  viewless  voice  hath  waked  the  human  deeds ; 

Born  of  the  germs,  flowers  bloom  and  harvests  spring; 

The  pine  uprooted  speeds  the  Ocean  King. 


BOOK  y.  185 


XXX. 


"  Warriors,  since  absent,  (not  from  wanton  lust 
Of  errant  emprize,  but  by  Fate  ordained, 

For  all  lone  labouring,  worthy  of  his  trust) 

He  whose  young  lips  in  thirst  of  glory  drained 

All  that  of  arts  Mavortian,  elder  Eome 

Taught  to  assail  the  foe,  or  guard  the  home ; 

XXXI. 

"  Be  ye  his  delegates,  and  oft  with  prayer 

'     Bring  angels  round  his  wild  and  venturous  way ; 

As  one  great  orb  gives  life  and  light  to  air. 

So  times  there  are  when  all  a  people's  day 
Shines  from  a  single  life  !     This  known,  revere 
The  exile ;  mourn  not — let  his  soul  be  here. 

XXXII. 

^^  Yours  then,  high  chiefs,  the  conduct  of  the  war, 
But  heed  this  counsel  (won  or  wrung  from  Fate) 

Strong  rolls  the  tide  when  curb'd  its  channels  are, 
Strong  flows  the  force  that  but  defends  a  state ; 

In  Carduel's  walls  concentre  Cymri's  power. 

And  chain  the  dragon  to  his  charmed  tower. 

xxxiir. 
^'  This  night  the  moon  should  see  the  beacon  brand 

Link  fire  to  fire  from  Beli's  Druid  pile ; 
Rock  call  on  rock,  till  blazes  all  the  land 

From  Sabra's  wave  to  Mona's  parent  isle ! 
Let  freedom  write  in  characters  of  fire, 
'  ^yho  climbs  my  throne  ascends  his  funeral  jDj^re  !'  " 


186  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXXIV. 

The  Prophet  ceased ;  and  rose  with  stern  accord 
The  warrior  senate.     Sudden  every  shield 

Leapt  into  lightning  from  the  clashing  sword  ;* 
And  choral  voices  consentaneous  peal'd — 

"  Hail  to  our  guests !  the  wine  of  war  is  red  ; 

Fire  light  the  banquet — steel  prepare  the  bed !" 

XXXV. 

While  thus  the  peril  threat'ning  land  and  throne, 
Unarmed,  unheeding,  dreaming,  goes  the  King, 

Where  from  the  brief  Elysium,  Acheron 

Awaits  the  victim  which  its  priest  shall  bring. 

And  where  art  thou  meek  guardian  of  the  brave  ? 

Though  fails  the  eagle,  still  the  dove  may  save ! 

XXXVI. 

When,  lured  by  signs  that  seem'd  his  aid  to  implore. 
From  his  good  steed  the  lord  of  knighthood  sprung, 

[And  left  it  wistful  by  the  dismal  door, 

Since  the  cragg  d  roof  too  low-descending  hung 

For  the  great  war-horse  in  his  barb'd  array ; 

And  little  dreamed  he  of  the  long  delay] 

XXXVII. 

His  path  the  dove  nor  favoured  nor  forbade  ; 

Motionless,  folding  on  sharp  rocks  its  wing. 
With  its  soft  eyes  it  watch'd,  resign'd  and  sad. 

Where  fetes,  ordain'd  for  sorrow,  led  the  King ; 
Nor  did  he  miss,  (till  earth  regained  the  day) 
The  plumed  angel  vanish'd  from  his  way. 

•  The  striking  the  sword  against  the  shield  was  the  Gallic  signal  of  war — com- 
mon alike  to  the  Teutonic  and  Scandinavian  races. 


BOOK    Y.  187 

XXXVIII. 

Then  oft,  in  truth,  and  oft  in  blissful  hours, 

Miss'd  was  that  faithful  guide  through  stormier  life. 

Ah  common  lot !  how  oft,  mid  summer  flowers, 
We  miss  the  soother  of  the  winter  strife ; 

How  oft  we  mourn  in  Fortune's  sunlit  vale 

Some  silenced  heart  with  which  we  shared  the  gale ! 

XXXIX. 

But  absent  not  the  dove,  albeit  unseen ; 

In  some  still  foliage  it  had  found  its  nest ; 
At  night  it  hovered  where  his  steps  had  been. 

Pale  through  the  moonbeams  in  the  air  of  rest ; 
By  the  lull'd  wave  and  shadowy  banks  it  pass'd. 
Lingering  where  love  with  ^gie  lingered  last. 

XL. 

And  when  with  chiller  dawn  resought  the  lone 
And  leafy  gloom  in  which  it  shunn'd  the  day. 

Beneath  those  boughs  you  might  have  heard  it  moan, 
Low-wailing  to  itself  its  plaintive  lay ; 

Till  with  the  sun  rose  all  the  songs  that  fill 

Morn  with  delight  5  and  then  the  dove  was  still. 

XLI. 

But  now,  as  towards  the  Temple  of  the  Shades 
The  King  went  heavily — a  gleam  of  light 

Shot  throvigh  the  gloaming  of  the  cedarn  glades. 
And  the  dove  glided  to  his  breast :  the  sight 

Came  like  a  smile  from  heaven  upon  the  King, 

And  his  heart  warmed  beneath  the  brooding  wing. 


188  KING    ARTHUR. 

XLII. 

Strange  was  the  thrill  of  joy,  heyoiid  belief, 

Sent  from  the  soft  touch  of  those  plumes  of  down ! 

He  was  not  all  deserted  in  his  grief, 

The  brows  of  Fate  relax'd  their  iron  frown ; 

And  his  soul  quickened  to  that  glorious  power 

WJiich  fronts  the  future  and  subdues  the  hour ; 

XLTII. 

The  hope  it  brought — not  seem'd  the  dove  to  share, 

As  if  it  felt  the  tempest  in  the  sky ; 
TrembHng,  it  nestled  to  its  shelter  there. 

Nor  lifted  to  the  light  its  drooping  eye. 
Not,  as  its  wont,  to  guide  it  came ;  but  brave 
With  him  the  ills  from  which  it  could  not  save. 

XLIV. 

Now  lost  the  lovelier  features  of  the  land, 

Dull  waves  replace  the  fount,  dark  pines  the  bowers, 

Gray-streeted  tombs,  far  stretch'd  on  either  hand. 
Rear  the  dumb  city  of  the  Funeral  Powers, 

Massive  and  huge  glooms  up  the  dome  of  dread. 

Where  the  stern  Death-god  frowns  above  the  dead. 

XLV, 

Hewn  from  a  rock,  stand  the  great  columns  square. 
With  tryglyphs  wrought  and  j)onderous  pediment ; 

Such  as  yet  greet  the  musing  wanderer  where, 
Near  the  old  Fane  to  which  Etruria  sent 

Her  sovereign  twelve,  the  thick-sown  violet  blooms, 

In  Castel  d'Asso's  vale  of  hero-tombs.* 

*  Castel  (I'Asso  (the  Castellum  Axla,  in  Cicero),  the  name  now  given  to  the 
valleys  near  Viterbo,  which  formed  the  great  burial-place  of  the  Etrurians,     ^"ear 


BOOK    Y.  189 

XLVI. 

Passing  a  bridge  that  sj)ann'd  the  barrier  wave, 

The  J  reach  the  Thebes-Uke  porch ; — the  Augur  here 

First  entering,  leaves  the  King.     Within  the  nave 
Now  swell  the  iiutes  (which  went  before  the  bier 

What  time  the  funeral  chaunt  of  Pagan  Eome 

Knell'd  some  throne-shatterer  to  his  six  feet  home.) 


XLVII. 

Jar  back  the  portals — long,  in  measured  line, 
There  stand  within  the  mute  Aruspices, 

In  each  pale  hand  a  torch ;  and  near  a  shrine 
Sit  on  still  thrones,  the  guardian  deities ; 

Here  Sethlans,''''  sovereign  of  life's  fix'd  domains — 

There  fatal  Northia  with  the  iron  chains. 


XL  VIII. 

Between  the  two  the  Death-god  broods  sublime ; 

On  his  pale  brow  the  inexorable  peace 
Which  speaks  of  power  beyond  the  shores  of  time ; 

Calm,  not  benign  like  the  sweet  gods  of  Greece, 
Calm  as  the  mystery,  which  in  Memphian  skies. 
Froze  life's  warm  current  from  a  sphinx's  eyes. 


these  valleys,  and,  as  some  suppose,  on  the  site  of  Viterbo,  was  Voltumna  (Fanuni 
VoltumnEej,  at  which  the  twelve  sovereigns  of  the  twelve  dynasties,  and  the  otht-r 
chiefs  of  the  Etrurians,  met  in  the  spring  of  every  year.  Views  of  the  rock-temples 
at  Norchea,  in  this  neighbourhood,  are  to  be  seen  in  Inghirami's  Etrusc.  Antiq. 

*  Sethlans,  the  Etrurian  Vulcan.  He  appears  sometimes  to  assume  the  attributes 
of  Terminus,  though  in  a  higher  and  more  ethereal  sense — presiding  over  the  bounds 
of  life  as  Terminus  over  those  of  the  land. 


190  KING    ARTHUR. 

XLIX. 

With  many  a  grausome  sliape  unutterable, 
Liinn'd  were  tlie  cavernous  sepulchral  walls ; 

Life-like  they  stalk'clj  the  Populace  of  Hell, 
Through  the  pale  pomp  of  Acherontian  halls ; 

Distinct  as  when  the  Trojan's  living  breath, 

Yex'cl  the  wide  silence  in  the  waste  of  death. 

L. 

Shown  was  the  Progress  of  the  guilty  Soul 

From  earth's  warm  threshold  to  the  throne  of  doom ; 

Here  the  black  genius  to  the  dismal  goal 

Dragg'd  the  wan  spectre  from  the  unsheltering  tomb ; 

While  from  its  side  it  never  more  may  warn 

The  better  angel,  sorrowing,  fled  forlorn. 

LI. 

Hideous  with  horrent  looks  and  goading  steel 
The  fiend  drives  on  the  abject  cowering  ghost 

Where  (closed  the  eighth)  sev'n  yawning  gates  reveal 
The  sev'nfold  anguish  that  awaits  the  lost ; 

By  each  the  gryphon  flaps  his  ravening  wings, 

And  dire  Chimaera  whets  her  hungry  stints. 

LII. 

Here,  even  that  God,  of  all  the  kindliest  one, 

Life  of  all  life  (in  Tusca's  later  creed. 
Blent  with  the  orient  worship  of  the  Sun, 

Or  His  who  loves  the  madding  nym23hs  to  lead 
On  the  Fork'd  Hill) — abjures  the  genial  smile,* 
And,  scowls  transform'd,  the  Typhon  of  the  Nile. 

*  Tina,  the  Etrurian  Bacchus  (son  of  Tina),  identified  symbolically  \vith  the 
pod  of  the  infernal  regions.  In  the  funeral  monuments  he  sometimes  ussumes  the 
most  fearful  aspect. 


BOOK    V.  191 

LIII. 

Closed  the  eiglitli  gate — for  tlierey  the  Happy  dwell ! 

No  glimpse  of  joy  beyond  makes  horror  less. 
But  that  closed  gate  upon  the  exiled  Hell 

Sets  Hell's  last  seal  of  misery — Hopelessness  ! 
Nathless,  despite  the  Deemon's  chacing  thong, 
Here,  as  if  hoping  still,  the  Hopeless  throng."^ 

LIV. 

Before  the  northern  knight  each  nightmare  dream 
Of  Theban  soothsayer  or  Chaldaean  mage. 

Thus  kindling  in  the  torches'  breathless  beam. 
As  if  incarnate  with  resistless  rage. 

And  Hell's  true  malice,  starts  from  wall  to  wall ; 

He  signs  the  cross,  and  looks  unmoved  on  all. 

LV. 

Before  the  inmost  Penetralian  doors. 

Holding  a  cypress  branch  the  Augur  stands ; 

The  King  s  firm  foot  strides  echoeless  the  floors, 
And  with  dull  groan  the  temple  veil  expands ; 

Advance  the  torches,  and  their  shaken  shine 

Glares  o'er  the  wave  that  yawns  behind  the  >shrine ; — 

LVI. 

Glares  o'er  the  wave,  as,  under  vaulted  rock, 
Dark  as  Cocytus,  the  false  smoothness  flows ; 

But  wdiere  the  light  fades — there  is  heard  the  shock, 
As  hurrying  on  the  headlong  torrent  goes ; 

With  mocking  oars — a  raft  sways,  moored  beside, 

What  keel  save  Charon's  ploughs  that  dismal  tide  ? 

*  The  above  description  of  the  Etrurian  Hades,  with  its  eight  gates,  is  taken  in 
each  detail  from  vases  and  funeral  monuments,  most  of  which  are  cited  by  Micali. 


192  KING    ARTHUR. 

LVII. 

Proud  Arthur  smiled  upon  the  guileful  host, 
As  welcome  danger  roused  him  and  restored. — 

"  Friend,"  quoth  the  King,  "  methinks  jour  streams 
mii>ht  boast 
A  gentler  margin  and  a  fairer  ford." 

"  As  birth  to  man,"  replied  the  priest,  "  the  cave, 

0  guest;  to  thee !  as  death  to  man  the  wave. 

LVIII. 

"  Doth  it  appal  thee  ?  thou  canst  yet  return  ! 

There  love,  there  sunny  life ; — and  yonder" — "  FamCy 
Cymri,  and  God  !"  said  Arthur.     "  Paynim,  learn 

Death  has  two  victors,  deathless  both — the  name, 
The  soul  ; — to  each  a  realm  eternal  given. 
This  rules  the  earth,  and  that  achieves  the  heaven." 

LIX. 

He  said  and  seized  a  torch  with  scornful  hand : 
The  frail  raft  rock'd  to  his  descending  tread ; 

Uj^on  the  prow  he    x'd  the  glowing  brand. 

And  the  raft  drifted  down  the  waves  of  dread. 

So  with  his  fortunes  went  confidinsf  forth 

The  knightly  Ceesar  of  the  Christian  North. 

LX. 

Then,  from  its  shelter  on  his  breast,  the  dove 
Rose,  and  sail'd  slow  before  with  doubtful  wing ; 

The  dun  mists  rolling  round  the  vaults  above, 
Below,  the  gulf  with  torch-fires  crimsoning ; 

Wan  through  the  glare,  or  white  amidst  the  gloom. 

Glanced  Heaven's  mute  daughter  with  the  silver  plume. 


BOOK  y.  193 

Lxr. 

Meanwhile  to  ^gle  :  from  the  happier  trance, 
And  from  the  stun  of  the  first  human  ill 

Labourinof  returns  the  soul ! — As  lio-htninprs  alance 
O'er  battle  fields,  with  sated  slaughter  still. 

The  fitful  reason  flickerino;  comes  and  2;oes 

O'er  the  past  struggle — o'er  the  blank  repose. 

Lxrr. 
At  length  with  one  long,  eager,  searching  look, 

She  gazed  around,  and  all  the  living  space 
With  one  great  loss  seem'd  lifeless  ! — then  she  strook 

Her  clench'd  hand  on  her  heart ;  and  o'er  her  fixce 
Settled  inefiable  that  icj  gloom, 
Which  only  falls  when  hope  abandons  doom. 

LXIIT. 

Why  breaks  the  smile — why  waves  the  exulting  hand  ? 

Why  to  the  threshold  moves  that  step  serene  ? 
The  brow  superb  awes  back  the  maiden  band. 

From  the  roused  woman  towers  sublime  the  queen. 
Past  bower,  past  aisle — and  dazzled  crowds  survey^ 
That  pomp  of  beauty  burst  upon  the  day. 

LXIV. 

Brief  and  imperious  rings  her  question ;  quick 
A  hundred  hands  point,  answering  to  the  fane. 

As  on  she  sweeps,  behind  her,  fast  and  thick. 
Gather  the  groups  far  following  in  her  train. 

Behind  some  bird  unknown,  of  glorious  dyes, 

So  swarm  the  meaner  people  of  the  skies. 

13 


194  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXV. 

Oh  the  great  force  that  sleeps  in  woman's  heart ! 

She  will,  at  least,  behold  that  form  once  more ; 
See  its  last  vestige  from  her  world  depart, 

And  mark  the  spot  to  haunt  and  wander  o'er ; 
Eased  in  that  impulse  of  the  human  breast 
All  the  cold  lessons  on  its  leaves  impress'd ; — 

Lxvi.  ^It- 

Snapped  in  the  strength  of  the  divine  desire 

All  the  vain  swathes  with  which  convention  thralls;- 
Nature  breaks  forth,  and  at  her  breath  of  fire 

The  elaborate  snow-pile's  molten  temple  falls ; 
And  life's  scar'd  priestcrafts  fly  before  that  Truth, 
Whose  name  is  Passion,  whose  great  altar,  Youth ! 

LXVII. 

Unknown  the  egress,  dreamless  of  the  snare, 
Sole  aim  to  look  the  last  on  the  adored ; 

She  gains  the  fane — she  treads  the  aisle — and  there 
The  deathlights  guide  her  to  the  bridal  lord ; 

On,  through  pale  groupes  around  the  yawning  cave, 

She  comes — and  looks  upon  the  livid  wave. 

LXVIII. 

She  comes — she  sees  afar,  amidst  the  dark. 
That  fair,  serene,  undaunted,  godlike  brow — 

Sees  on  the  lurid  deep  the  lonely  bark. 

Drift  through  the  circling  horror — sees,  and  now 

On  light's  far  verge  it  hovers,  wanes,  and  fades, 

As  roars  the  hungering  cataract  up  the  shades. 


BOOK    V.  195 

LXIX. 

Voiceless  she  look'd,  and  voiceless  look'd  and  smiled 
On  her  the  priest ;  strange  though  the  marvel  seem, 

The  old  man,  childless,  loved  her  more  than  child ; 
She  link'd  each  thought — she  coloured  every  dream ; 

But  love,  the  varying  Genius,  guides,  in  turn, 

The  soft  to  pity,  to  revenge  the  stern. 

LXX. 

Not  his  the  sympathy  which  soothes  the  woe. 

But  that  which,  wrathful,  feels,  and  shares,  the  wrong. 

He  in  the  faithless  but  beheld  the  foe ; 

The  weak  he  righted  when  he  smote  the  strong ; 

In  one  dread  crime  a  twofold  virtue  seen, 

Here  saved  the  land,  and  there  avenged  the  queen. 

LXXI. 

So  through  the  hush  his  hissing  munnur  stole — 
"  Ay,  ^gle,  blossom  on  the  stem  of  kings. 

Not  to  fresh  altars  glides  the  perjurer's  soul, 

Not  to  new  maids  the  vows  still  thine  he  brings ; 

No  rival  mocks  thee  from  the  bloodless  shore, 

The  dead,  at  least,  are  faithful  ever  more." 

LXXII. 

As  when  around  the  demigod  of  love. 

Whom  men  Prometheus  call,  relentless  fell 

The  flashing  fires  of  Zeus,  and  Heaven  above 
Open'd  in  flame,  in  flame  the  opening  hell ; 

While  gazing  dauntless  on  the  Thunderer's  frown. 

Sunk  from  the  Earth,  the  Earth's  Light-bringer  do;vn 


; 


196  KING     ARTHUR. 

LXXIII. 

So,  while  both  worlds  before  its  sight  lay  bare, 
And  o'er  one  ruin  burst  the  lightning  shock, 

Love,  the  Arch-Titan,  in  sublime  despair, 

Faced  the  rent  Hades  from  the  shattered  rock ; 

And  saw  in  Heaven,  the  future  Heaven  foreshown. 

When  Love  shall  reign  where  Force  usurps  the  throne.* 

LXXIV. 

The  Woman  heard,  and  gathering  majesty 

Beam'd  on  her  front,  and  crown'd  it  w  ith  command ; 

The  pale  priest  shrunk  before  her  tranquil  eye. 
And  the  light  touch  of  her  untrembling  hand — 

'^  Enjoy,"  she  said,  with  voice  as  clear  as  low, 

"  Enjoy  thy  hate ;  Avhere  love  survives  I  go. 

LXXV. 

'^  Sweetly  thou  smilest — sweetly,  gentle  Death, 
Kinder  than  life ; — that  severs,  thou  unitest ! 

To  realms  He  spoke  of  goes  this  living  breath 
A  living  soul,  wherever  space  is  brightest — 

Fair  Love — I  trusted,  now  I  claim,  thy  troth ! 

Blest  be  thy  couch,  for  it  hath  room  for  both !" 

LXXVI. 

She  said,  and  from  each  hand  that  would  restrain 
Broke,  in  the  strength  of  her  sublime  despair; 

Swift  as  the  meteor  on  the  northern  main 

Fades  from  the  ice-lock'd  sea-king's  livid  stare — 

She  sprang ;  the  rolje  a  sudden  glimmer  gave, 

And  o'er  the  vision  swept  the  closing  wave. 

*  Prometh.  Vinci,     ^sch. 


BOOK    Y.  197 

LXXVII. 

Return,  wild  Song,  to  Lancelot !     Behold 

Our  Lord's  lone  house  beside  the  placid  mere  ! 

There  pipes  the  careless  shepherd  to  his  fold, 
Or  from  the  crags  the  shy  capellae  peer 

Through  the  green  rents  of  many  a  hanging  brake, 

Which  sends  its  quivering  shadow  to  the  lake. 

LXXVIII. 

And  by  the  pastoral  margins  mournfully 

Wanders  from  dawn  to  eve  the  earnest  knight ; 

And  ever  to  the  ring  he  turns  his  eye, 

And  ever  does  the  ring  perplex  the  sight ; 

The  fairy  hand  that  knew  no  rest  before. 

Rests  now  as  fix'd  as  if  its  task  were  o'er.    , 

LXXIX. 

Towards  the  far  head  of  the  calm  water  turn'd 
The  unmoving  finger ;  yet  when  gain'd  the  place. 

No  path  for  human  foot  the  knight  discern'd — 
Abrupt  and  huge,  the  rocks  enclosed  the  space. 

His  scath'd  front  veil'd  in  everlasting  snows. 

High  above  eagles  Alpine  Atlas  rose. 

LXXX. 

No  cleft !  save  that  a  giant  torrent  clove. 

For  its  fierce  hurry  to  the  lake  it  fed; 
Check'd  for  awhile  in  chasms  conceal'd  above. 

Thence  all  its  pomp  the  dazzling  horror  spread, 
And  from  the  beetling  ridges,  smooth  and  sheer, 
Flash'd  in  one  mass,  down-roaring  to  the  mere. 


198  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXXI. 

Still  to  that  spot  the  fairy  hand  inclined, 
And  daily  there  with  wistful  searching  eyes 

Wandered  the  knight ;  each  day  no  path  to  find ; 
And  climb  in  vain  the  ladder  to  the  skies ; 

Still  foil'd  each  step  the  inexorable  wall, 

Still  the  old  guide  refused  its  aid  in  all. 

LXXXII. 

One  noon,  as  thus  he  gazed  in  stern  despair 

On  rock  and  torrent ; — from  the  tortured  spray, 

And  through  the  mists,  into  cserulean  air, 
A  dove  descending  rush'd  its  arrowy  way ; 

Swift  as  a  falling  star  which,  falling,  brings 

Woe  on  the  helmet-crown  of  Dorian  kings  1* 

LXXXIII. 

Straight  to  the  wanderer's  hand  bore  down  the  bird. 
With  plumage  crisp'd  with  fear,  and  piercing  plaint ; 

Oft  had  he  heedful,  in  his  wanderings,  heard 
Of  the  great  Wrong-Redresser,  whom  a  saint 

In  the  dove's  guise  directed — "  Hail,"  he  cried, 

"  I  greet  the  token — I  accept  the  guide  1" 

LXXXIV. 

And  sudden  as  he  spoke,  arose  the  wing, 
(Warily  veering  towards  the  dexter  Hank 

Of  the  huge  chasm,  through  which  leapt  thundering 
From  Nature's  heart  her  savage)  ;  on  the  bank 

Of  that  fell  stream,  in  root,  and  jag,  and  stone. 

It  traced  the  ladder  to  the  glacier's  throne. 

*  In  moonless  nights,  every  eighth  year,  the  Spartan  Ephors  consulted  the  hea- 
vens;  if  there  appeared  the  meteor,  which  we  call  the  shooting  star,  they  adjudged 
their  kings  to  have  committed  some  oHcncc   against  the  gods,  and  suspended  them 


BOOK    V.  199 

LXXXV. 

Slow  sail'd  the  dove,  and  paused,  and  look'd  behind, 
As  labouring  after,  crag  on  crag,  the  knight 

(Close  on  the  deafening  roar,  and  whirling  wind 
Lash'd  from  the  surges) ,  through  the  vaporous  night 

Of  the  gray  mists,  loom'd  up  the  howling  wild ; 

Strong  in  the  charm  the  fairy  gave  the  child. 

LXXXVI. 

With  bleeding  hands  that  leave  a  moment's  red 
On  stone  and  stem  wash'd  by  the  mighty  spray, 

He  gains  at  length  the  inter-alpine  bed. 

Whose  lock'd  Charybdis  checks  the  torrent's  way, 

And  forms  a  basin  o'er  abyssmal  caves. 

For  the  grim  respite  of  the  headlong  waves. 

LXXXVII. 

Torrents  below — the  torrents  still  above ! 

Above  less  awful — as  precipitous  peak 
And  splinter'd  ledge — and  many  a  curve  and  cove 

In  the  compress'd  indented  margins,  break 
That  crushing  sense  of  power,  in  which  we  see 
What,  without  Nature's  God,  would  Nature  be ! 

LXXXVIII. 

Before  him,  stretch'd  the  maelstrom  of  the  ab}' ss ; 

And,  in  the  central  torrent,  giant  pines, 
Uprooted  from  the  bordering  wilderness 

By  some  gone  winter  s  blast — in  flashing  lines 
Shot  through  the  whirl — then  pluck'd  to  the  profound, 
Vanish'd  and  rose,  swift  eddying  round  and  round. 

from  their  office  till  acquitted  by  the  Delphic  oracle,  or  Olympian  priests. — Plut. 
^g'ts,  11.  MuLLEu's  Dorians,  b.  iii.  c.  6. 


200  KING     ARTHUR. 

LXXXIX. 

But  oil  the  marge  as  on  the  wave  thou  art, 

0  coFiquering  Death  ! — what  human,  hueless  face 

Rests  pillow'd  on  a  silenced  human  heart  ? 

AVhat  arm  still  clasps  in  more  than  love's  embrace 

That  form  for  which  yon  vulture  flaps  its  wing  ? 

Kneel,  Lancelot,  kneel,  thine  eyes  behold  thy  King ! 

xc. 

Alas  in  vain — still  in  the  Death-god's  cave. 

Ere  yet  the  torrent  snatch'd  the  hurrying  stream, 

Beside  a  crag  gray-shimmering  from  the  wave, 
And  near  the  brink  by  which  the  pallid  beam 

Sliow'd  one  pent  path  along  the  rugged  verge. 

By  which  to  leave  the  raft  and  scape  the  surge, — 

xci. 

Alas  in  vain,  that  haven  to  the  ark 

The  dove  had  given  ! — just  won  the  refuge-place, 
When,  thrice  emerging  from  the  sheeted  dark. 

White  glanced  a  robe,  and  livid  rose  a  face ! 
He  saw,  he  sprang, —  he  iiear'd,  he  grasp'd  the  vest ! 
And  both  the  torrent  grappled  to  its  breast. 

XCII. 

Yet,  in  the  immense  and  superhuman  force. 
Love  and  despair  bestow  upon  the  bold. 

The  strong  man  battled  with  the  Titan's  course, 

Grip'd  rock  and  layer,  and  ledge,  with  snatching  hold, 

Bruised,  bleeding,  broken,  onwards,  downwards  driven, 

No  wave  his  treasure  from  his  grasp  had  riven. 


BOOK  y.  201 

XCIII. 

Saved,  saved — at  last  before  his  reeling  eyes 
'(Into  the  pool,  that  check'd  the  Fury,  hurl'd) 

Shone,  as  he  rose,  through  all  the  hurtling  skies. 
The  dove's  white  winix ;  and  ere  the  maelstrom  whirl'd 

The  breasted  waters  to  the  central  shock, 

Show'd  the  gnarl'd  roots  of  the  redeeming  rock. 

XCIV. 

Less  sense  than  instinct  caught  the  wing  that  shone, 
The  crags  that  sheltered ; — the  wild  billows  gave 

The  desperate  limbs  the  force  that  fail'd  their  own, 
And  as  he  turn'd  and  sunk,  the  swerving  wave 

Swooped  round,  dash'd  on,  and  to  the  isthmus  sped 

The  failing  life  whose  arms  still  lock'd  the  dead. 

xcv. 
Long  vain  were  Lancelot's  cares  and  knightly  skill. 

Ere,  thro'  slow  veins  congeal'd,  pulsed  back  the  blood ; 
The  very  wounds,  the  valour  of  the  will. 

The  peaks  that  broke  the  fury  of  the  flood 
Had  help'd  to  save ;  alas  the  strong  to  save ! 
For  Strength  to  toil,  till  Love  re-opes  the  grave. 

XCVI. 

Twice  down  the  dismal  path  (the  dove  his  guide) 
The  lake's  charm'd  knight  bore  twice  his  helpless  load ; 

A  chamois  hunter  in  the  vale  descried, 
Aided  the  convoy  to  the  house  of  God. 

Dark — wroth — convulsed,  the  soul  earth  holdeth,  lay; 

Calm  from  the  bier  beside  it,  smiled  the  clay ! 


202  KING    ARTHUR. 

XCVII. 

0  Song — for  Lydian  elegy  too  stern, 

Song,  cradled  in  the  Celt's  rough  battle-shield ; 

Rather  from  thee  should  man,  the  soldier,  learn 
To  hide  the  wounds — heroic  while  conceal'd ; 

From  foes  without,  the  mean  the  palm  may  win, 

What  tries  the  noble  is  the  war  within ! 

XCVIII. 

Let  the  King's  woe  its  muse  in  Silence  claim, 
When  sense  return'd,  and  solitary  life 

Sate  in  the  ShadoAv ! — shade  or  sun  the  same. 
Toil  hath  brief  respite :  man  is  made  for  strife. 

Woman  for  rest! — rest,  bright  with  dreams  is  given. 

Child  of  the  heathen,  in  the  Christian  heaven ! 

xcix. 
And  to  the  Christian  prince's  plighted  bride, 

The  simple  monks,  the  Christian's  grave  accord, 
With  lifted  cross  and  swinging  censer  glide 

To  23assing  bells — the  hermits  of  the  Lord ; 
And  at  that  hour,  in  her  own  native  vale. 
Her  own  soft  race  their  mj'Stic  loss  bewail. 

c. 

Methinks  I  see  the  Tuscan  Genius  yet. 

Lured,  lingering  by  the  clay  it  loved  so  well, 

And  listening  to  the  two-fold  dirge  that  met 
In  upper  air ; — here  Nazarene  anthems  swell 

Triumphal  j)a3ans  ! — there,  the  Alps  behind. 

Etrurian  Na3ni9e,'''  load  the  lagging  wind. 

*   NaDniae,  the  funeral  hymns  borrowed  by  the  Romans  from  the  Etrurians. 


BOOK    V.  203 


CI. 


Pauses  the  startled  Genius  to  compare 

The  notes  that  mourn  the  Hfe,  at  best  so  brief, 

With  those  that  welcome  to  empyreal  air 
The  bright  escaper  from  a  Avorld  of  grief; 

Marvelling  what  creed,  beyond  the  happy  vale, 

Can  teach  the  soul  the  loathed  Styx  to  liail ! 

THE  ETRURIAN  N^NI^E. 

Where  art  thou,  pale  and  melancholy  ghost  ? 

No  funeral  rites  appease  thy  tomhless  clay ; 
Unburied,  glidest  thou  by  the  dismal  coast. 

0  exile  from  the  day  ? 

There,  where  the  voice  of  love  is  heard  no  more, 
AVhere  the  dull  v^^ave  moans  back  the  eternal  wail, 
,  Dost  thou  recall  the  summer  suns  of  yore. 

Thine  own  melodious  vale  ? 

Thy  Lares  stand  on  thy  deserted  floors, 

And  miss  their  last  sweet  daughter's  holy  face, 
What  hand  shall  wreathe  with  flowers  the  threshold  doors? 

What  child  renew  the  race  ? 

Thine  are  the  nuptials  of  the  dreary  shades, 

Of  all  thy  groves  what  rests  ? — the  cypress  tree ! 
As  from  the  air  a  strain  of  music  fades, 

Dark  silence  buries  thee ! 

•    Yet  no,  lost  child  of  more  than  mortal  sires, 

Thy  stranger  bridegroom  bears  thee  to  his  home, 
Where  the  stars  light  the  ^Esars'  nuptial  fires 

In  Tina's  azure  dome  ; 


From  the  fierce  wave  the  god's  celestial  wing 

Rapt  thee  aloft  along  the  yielding  air ; 
W^ith  amaranths  fresh  from  heaven's  eternal  spring, 

Bright  Cupra*  braids  thy  hair. 

*  Cupra,  or  Talna,  corresponding  with  Juno,  the  nuptial  goddess. 


204  KING    ARTHUR. 


Ah,  in  those  halls  for  us  thou  wilt  not  mourn, 
Far  are  the  /Esars'  joys  from  human  woe  : 
But  not  the  less  forsaken  and  forlorn 

Those  thou  hast  left  below ! 

Never,  oh  never  more,  shall  we  behold  thee, 

The  last  spark  dies  upon  the  sacred  hearth  : 
Art  thou  less  lost,  though  heavenly  arms  enfold  thee — 

Art  thou  less  lost  to  earth  ? 

Slow  swells  the  sorrowing  N(«nioB's  chaunted  strain. 

Time  with  slow  flutes  our  leaden  footsteps  keep ; 
Sad  earth,  whate'er  the  happier  heaven  may  gain, 

Ilath  but  a  loss  to  weep. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  FUNERAL  HYMN. 

Sing  we  Halleluiah — singing 

Halleluiah  to  the  Three  ; 
Where,  vain  Death,  oh,  where  thy  stinging  ? 

Where,  0  Grave,  thy  victory  ? 

As  a  sun  a  soul  hath  risen. 

Rising  from  a  stormy  main  ; 
When  the  captive  breaks  the  prison, 

Who  but  slaves  would  mourn  the  chain  ? 

Fear  for  age  subdued  by  trial, 

Heavy  with  the  years  of  sin  : 
When  the  sunlight  leaves  the  dial. 

And  the  solemn  shades  beo-in. 


"o 


Not  for  youth  ! — alth(uigh  the  bosom 
With  a  sharper  grief  be  wrung  ; 

For  the  Maywind  strews  the  blossom, 
And  the  angel  takes  the  young ! 

Saved  from  sins,  while  yet  forgiven ; 

From  the  joys  that  lead  astray, 
From  the  earth  at  war  with  heaven, 

Soar,  0  happy  soul,  away ! 


BOOK  y.  205 


From  the  human  love  that  fadeth, 
In  the  falsehood  or  the  tomi) ; 

From  the  cloud  that  darkly  shadeth ; 
From  the  canker  in  the  bloom ; 


Thou  hast  pass'd  to  suns  unsetting, 
Whore  the  rainbow  spans  the  flood, 

Where  no  moth  the  garb  is  fretting, 
Where  no  worm  is  in  the  bud. 


Let  the  arrow  leave  the  quiver, 
It  was  fashion' d  but  to  soar ; 

Let  the  wave  pass  from  the  river, 
Into  ocean  evermore  ! 


Mindful  yet  of  mortal  feeling 
In  thy  fresh  immortal  birth  ; 

By  the  Virgin  mother  kneeling, 
Plead  for  those  beloved  on  earth. 


W^hisper  them  thou  hast  forsaken, 

"Woe  but  borders  unbelief;" 
Comfort  smiles  in  faith  unshaken. 

Shall  thy  glory  be  their  grief? 

Let  one  ray  on  them  descending. 
From  the  prophet  Future  stream  ; 

Bliss  is  daylight  never  ending, 
Sorrow  but  a  passing  dream. 

O'er  the  grave  in  far  communion, 

AVith  the  choral  Seraphim, 
Chaunt  in  notes  that  hail  reunion, 

Chaunt  the  Christian's  funeral  hymn. 

Singing  Hallekiiah — singing 

Ilallehiiah  to  the  Three, 
Where,  vain  Death,  oh  where  thy  stinging? 

Where,  0  Grave,  thy  victory  ? 


206  KING    ARTHUR. 

Cll. 

So  rests  the  child  of  creeds  before  the  Greek's, 
In  our  Lord's  holy  ground — between  the  walls 

Of  the  gray  convent  and  the  verdant  creeks 
Of  the  sequestered  mere ;  afar  the  falls 

Of  the  fierce  torrent  from  her  native  vale. 

Vex  the  calm  wave,  and  groan  upon  the  gale. 

cm. 
Survives  that  remnant  of  old  races  still, 

In  its  strange  haven  from  the  surge  of  Time  ? 
There  yet  do  Camsee's  songs  at  sunset  thrill, 

At  the  same  hour  when  here,  the  vesper  chime 
Hymns  the  sweet  Mother  ?     Ah,  can  granite  gate, 
Cataract,  and  Alp,  exclude  the  steps  of  Fate  ? 

CIV. 

World-wearied  man,  thou  knowest  not  on  the  earth 
What  regions  lie  beyond,  yet  near,  thy  ken ! 

But  couldst  thou  find  them,  where  would  be  the  worth  ? 
Life  but  repeats  its  triple  tale  to  men. 

Three  truths  unite  the  children  of  the  sod — 

All  love — all  suffer — and  all  feel  a  God ! 

cv. 

By  -/Egle's  grave,  the  royal  mourner  sate, 
And  from  his  bended  eyes  the  veiling  hand 

Shut  out  the  setting  sun ; — thus,  desolate, 
He  sate,  with  Memory  in  her  spirit-land, 

And  took  no  heed  of  Lancelot's  soothing  words, 

Vain  to  the  oak,  bolt-shattered,  sing  the  birds ! 


BOOK    V.  207 

CVI. 

Vain  in  their  promise  of  returning  spring ; 

Spring  may  give  leaves,  can  spring  reclose  the  core  ? 
Comfort  not  sorrow — sorrow's  self  must  bring 

Its  own  stern  cure ! — All  wisdom's  holiest  lore, 
"  The  know  thyself,"  descends  from  heaven  in  tears ; 
The  cloud  must  break  before  the  horizon  clears. 

cvn. 

The  dove  forsook  not : — now  its  poised  wing. 
Bathed  in  the  sunset,  rested  o'er  the  lake ; 

Now  brooded  o'er  the  grave  beside  the  King, 
Now  with  liush'd  plumes,  as  if  it  feared  to  wake 

Sleep,  less  serene  than  Death's,  it  sought  his  breast, 

And  o'er  the  heart  of  misery  claimed  its  nest. 

CVIII. 

Night  falls — the  moon  is  at  her  full ; — the  mere 
Shines  with  the  sheen  pellucid ;  not  a  breeze  ! 

And  through  the  liush'd  and  argent  atmosphere 
Sharp  rise  the  summits  of  the  breathless  trees, 

When  Lancelot  saw,  all  indistinct  and  pale, 

Glide  o'er  the  liquid  glass  a  mistlike  sail. 

CIX. 

Now,  first  from  Arthur's  dreams  of  fever  gained. 
And  since  (for  grief  unlocks  the  secret  heart) 

Briefly  confess'd,  the  triple  toil  ordained 

The  knightly  brother  knew ; — so  with  a  start 

He  strained  the  eyes,  to  which  a  fairy  gave 

Vision  of  fairy  forms,  along  the  wave. 


208  KING    ARTHUR. 

ex. 

Then  ill  his  own  the  King's  cold  hand  he  took, 
And  spoke — "Arise,  thy  mission  calls  thee  now  ! 

Let  the  dead  rest — still  lives  thy  country  ! — look, 
And  nerve  thy  knighthood  to  redeem  its  vow. 

This  is  the  lake  whose  Avaves  the  falchion  hide, 

And  yon  the  bark  that  becks  thee  to  the  tide !" 

CXI. 

Listless  arose  the  King,  and  looked  abroad. 

Nor  saw  the  sail ; — though  nearer,  clearer  gliding. 

The  Fairy  nurseling  by  the  vapoury  shroud 
And  vapoury  helm,  beheld  a  phantom  guiding, 

"  Not  this,"  replied  the  King,  "  the  lake  decreed ; 

Where  points  thy  hand  but  floats  a  broken  reed ! 

CXII. 

"  Where  are  the  dangers  on  that  placid  tide  ? 

Where  are  the  fiends  that  guard  the  enchanted  boon  ? 
Behold,  where  rests  the  pilgrim's  plumed  guide 

On  the  cold  grave — beneath  the  quiet  moon ! 
So  night  gives  rest  to  grief — with  labouring  day 
Let  the  dove  lead,  and  life  resume,  the  way !" 

CXIII. 

Then  answered  Lancelot — for  he  was  wise 

In  each  mysterious  Druid  parable  : — 
"  Oft  in  the  things  most  simple  to  our  eyes, 

The  real  genii  of  our  doom  may  dwell — 
The  enchanter  spoke  of  trials  to  befall ; 
And  the  lone  heart  has  trials  worse  than  all ! 


BOOK    V.  209 

cxiv. 

''  Weird  triads  tell  us  that  our  nature  knows 
In  its  own  cells  the  demons  it  should  brave ; 

And  oft  the  calm  of  after  glory  flows 

Clear  round  the  marge  of  early  passion's  grave ;" 

And  the  dove  came,  ere  Lancelot  ceased  to  speak, 

To  its  lord's  hand — a  leaflet  in  its  beak. 

cxv. 

A  leaflet  from  the  grave ! — Then  Arthur's  heart 
Awoke  within  him,  and  the  prophet  word 

Of  bitter  charms  which  could  alone  impart 
The  vision  of  the  lake's  dark  Lady — stirr'd 

The  kindled  memories — to  his  tips  he  placed 

The  grave's  true  moly ; — bitter  was  the  taste  ! 

ex  VI. 

And  straight  the  film  fell  from  his  heavy  eyes ; 

And,  moored  beside  the  marge,  he  saw  the  bark. 
Its  fair  sails  swelling,  though  in  windless  skies, 

And  the  fair  Lady  in  the  robes  of  dark. 
O'er  moonlit  tracks  she  stretched  the  shadowy  hand, 
And  lo,  beneath  the  waters  bloomed  the  land! 

CXVII. 

Forests  of  emerald  verdure  spread  below. 
With  palaced-pillars  gleaming  far  and  wide. 

On  to  the  bark  the  mourner's  footsteps  go ; 

The  pale  King  stands  by  the  pale  phantom's  side ; 

And  Lancelot  sprang — but  sudden  from  his  reach 

Glanced  the  wan  skiff,  and  left  him  on  the  beach. 

14 


210  KING    ARTHUR. 

CXVIII. 

Chain'd  to  the  earth  by  spells,  more  strong  than  love, 
He  saw  the  pinnace  steal  its  noiseless  way, 

And  on  the  mast  there  sate  the  steadfast  dove, 
With  white  plume  shining  in  the  steadfast  ray — 

Slow  from  the  sight  the  waves  the  Vision  bear, 

And  not  a  speck  is  in  the  purple  air. 


KING    ARTHUR. 


BOOK    VI. 


ARGUMENT. 

Description  of  the  Cymrian  fire-beacons  ;  Dialogue  between  Gawaine  and 
Caradoc  ;  The  raven  ;  Merlin  announces  to  Gawaine  that  the  bird  selects 
him  for  the  aid  of  the  King ;  The  knight's  pious  scruples  ;  He  yields 
reluctantly,  and  receives  the  raven  as  his  guide  ;  His  pathetic  farewell 
to  Caradoc  ;  He  confers  with  Henricus  on  the  propriety  of  exorcising 
the  raven ;  Character  of  Henricus ;  The  knight  sets  out  on  his  ad- 
ventures ;  The  company  he  meets  and  the  obligation  he  incurs ;  The 
bride  and  the  sword ;  The  bride's  choice  and  the  hound's  fidelit}^ ;  Sir 
Gawaine  lies  down  to  sleep  under  the  fairy's  oak;  What  there  befalls" 
him  ;  The  fairy  banquet ;  The  temptation  of  Sir  Gawaine  ;  The  rebuke 
of  the  fairies ;  Sir  Gawaine,  much  displeased  with  the  raven,  resumes 
his  journey ;  His  adventure  with  the  Vikings,  and  how  he  comforts 
himself  in  his  captivity. 


BOOK  VI. 


I. 

On  the  bare  summit  of  the  loftiest  peak — 

Crowning  the  hills  round  Cymri's  Iscan  home, 

Rose  the  gray  temple  of  the  Faith  Antique, 

Before  whose  priests  had  paused  the  march  of  Rome, 

When  the  dark  isle  revealed  its  drear  abodes, 

And  the  last  Hades  of  Cimmerian  gods ; 

II. 
While  dauntless  Druids  by  their  shrines  profaned, 

Stretch'd  o'er  the  steelclad  hush  their  swordless  hands,* 
And  dire  Religion,  horror-breathing,  chain'd 

The  frozen  eagles, — till  the  shuddering  bands 
Shamed  into  slaughter,  broke  the  ghastly  spell. 
And,  lost  in  reeks  of  carnage,  sunk  the  hell. 

III. 

Quivered  on  column-shafts  the  poised  rock. 
As  if  a  breeze  could  shake  the  ruin  dow  n  ; 

But  storm  on  storm  had  sent  its  thunder-shock, 
Nor  reft  the  temple  of  its  charmed  crown — 

So  awe  of  power  Divine  on  human  breasts 

Vibrates  for  ever,  and  for  ever  rests. 

•  See  Tacitus,  1.  xiv.  cap.  30,  for  the  celebrated  description  of  the  attack  on  the 
Druids,  in  their  refuge  in  Mona,  under  Publius  Suetonius. 


214  KING     ARTHUR. 

IV. 

Within  the  fane  awaits  a  giant  pyre, 

Around  the  pyre  assembled  warriors  stand; 

A  pause  of  prayer ; — and  suddenly  the  fire 

Flings  its  broad  banner  reddening  o'er  the  land. 

Shoot  the  fierce  sparks  and  groan  the  crackling  pines, 

Toss'd  on  the  Wave  of  Shields  the  glory  shines. 


V. 

Lo,  from  dark  night  flash  Carduel's  domes  of  gold, 
Glow  the  jagg'd  rampires  like  a  belt  of  light. 

And  to  the  stars  springs  up  the  dragon-hold, 
With  one  lone  image  on  the  lonely  height — 

O'er  those  who  saw  a  thrilling  silence  fell ; 

There  the  still  Prophet  watch'd  o'er  Carduel ! 


VI. 

Forth  on  their  mission  rush'd  the  wings  of  flame ; 

Hill  after  hill  the  land's  gray  warders  rose ; 
First  to  the  Mount  of  Bards*  the  splendour  came, 

Wreath'd  with  large  halo  Trigarn's  f  stern  repose ; 
On,  post  by  post,  the  fiery  courier  rode. 
Blood  red  Edeirnion'sJ  dells  of  verdure  glow'd ; 


'  Twm  Barlwm,  in  Monmouthshire,  on  vvijich  the  bards  are   Ripposed  to  have 
assembled. 

t  Moel  Trigarn  in  Pembrokeshire  ;  it  has  on  its  summit  the  remains  of  an  old 
encampment  enclosing  three  immense  cairns. 

4  The  beautiful  valley  of  Edeirnion  watered  by  the  Dee. 


BOOK    VI.  215 

VII. 

Uprose  the  hardy  men  of  Merioneth, 

When  o'er  the  dismal  strata  parch'd  and  bleak, 

Like  some  revived  volcano's  lurid  breath 

Sprang  the  fierce  fire-jet  from  the  herbless  peak ; 

Flash'd  down  on  meeting  streams  the  basalt  walls,* 

In  molten  flame  Ehaiadyr's  thunder  falls. 

VIII. 

Thy  Faban  Mount,*}*  Caernarvon,  seized  the  sign. 
And  pass'd  the  watchword  to  the  Fairies'  Hill ;  J 

All  Mona  blazed — as  if  the  isle  divine 
To  Bel  the  sun-god  drest  her  altars  still ; 

Menai  reflects  the  prophet  hues,  and  far 

To  twofold  ocean  knells  the  coming  war. 

IX. 

Then  wheeling  round,  the  lurid  herald  swept 

To  quench  the  stars  yet  struggling  with  the  glare, 

Blithe  to  his  task,  resplendent  Golcun§  leapt — 
The  bearded  giant  rose  on  Moel-y-Gaer — 

Rose  his  six  giant  brothers, — Eifle  rose. 

And  great  Eryri||  lit  his  chasms  of  snows. 

*  The  confluence  of  the  Machno  with  the  Conwy ;  in  that  neighbourhood  i?  a 
range  of  basalt  rocks,  bending  over  the  water.  Near  where  the  streams  meet  are 
the  celebrated  falls  of  Rhaiadyr-y-Craig  Llwyd. 

f  Moel-Faban,  Caernarvonshire.  ^  Moelwnnion. 

§  Cop-yr-Golcuni,  or  Mount  of  Lighc — probably  the  signal  mount  of  the  great 
chain  of  beacons  on  that  side  of  Wales,  Moel  y-Gaer  (the  Hill  of  the  Camp), 
Moel-Arihur,  Moel  Fenlli,  &c.,  in  all  six  principal  beacon  hills.  The  classical 
reader  wdl  perceive  how  much  in  this  description  has  been  borrowed  from  the  cele- 
brated passage  in  the  Clytemnestra  of  ^'Eschylus. 

\  Eryri,  Snowdon. 


216  KING     ARTHUR. 

X. 

So  one  vast  altar  was  that  father-land ! 

But  nobler  altars  fiash'd  in  souls  of  men, 
Sublinier  than  the  mountahi-tops  the  brand 

Found  pyres  in  every  lowUest  hamlet  glen : 
Soon  on  the  rocks  shall  die  the  grosser  fire — 
Souls  lit  to  freedom  burn  till  suns  expire. 

XI. 

Slowly  the  chiefs  desert  the  blazing  fane, 

(Sure  of  steel-harvests  from  the  dragon  seed) 

Descend  the  mountain  and  the  walls  regain ; 
As  suns  to  S3^stems,  there  to  each  decreed 

His  glorious  task, — to  marshal  star  on  star, 

And  weave  with  fate  the  harmonious  pomp  of  war. 

XII. 

Last  of  the  noble  conclave,  lingered  two ; 

Gawaine  the  mirthful,  Caradoc  the  mild. 
And,  as  the  watchfires  thicken'd  on  their  view. 

War's  fearless  playmate  raised  his  hand  and  smiled, 
Pointing  each  splendour,  linking  rock  to  rock ; — 
And  while  he  smiled — sighed  earnest  Caradoc. 

XIII. 

"  Now  by  my  head — (an  empty  oath,  and  light !) 

No  taller  tapers  ever  lit  to  rest 
Rome's  stately  Caesar ; — sigh'st  thou,  at  the  sight, 

For  cost  o'er-lavish,  when  so  mean  the  guest  ?" 
"  Was  it  for  this  the  gentle  Saviour  died  ? 
Is  Cain  so  glorious  ?"  Caradoc  replied. 


BOOK    VI.  217 

XIV. 

^^  Permit,  Sir  Bard,  an  argament  on  that," 

True  to  his  fame,  said  golden-tongued  Gawaine, 

*'  The  hawk  may  save  his  tiedgehngs  from  the  cat, 
Nor  yet  deserve  comparisons  with  Cain ; 

And  Abel's  fate,  to  hand's  unskilled,  proclaims 

The  use  of  practice  in  gymnastic  games.  ^ 

XV. 

*'  Woes  that  have  been  are  man's  best  lesson-book — 
From  Abel's  death,  his  nimbler  sons  should  learn 

To  add  an  inch  of  iron  to  the  crook 

And  strike,  when  struck  a  little  in  return — 

Had  Abel  known  his  qu-arterstaff,  I  Avot, 

Those  Saxon  Ap-Cains  ne'er  had  been  begot." 

XVI. 

More  had  he  said,  but  a  strange,  grating  note, 

Half  laugh — half  croak,  was  here  discordant  heard  ; 

An  ave  rose — but  died  within  his  throat, 

As  close  before  him  perch'd  the  enchanter's  bird, 

With  head  aslant,  and  glittering  eye  askew. 

It  near'd  the  knidit — the  knight  in  haste  w^ithdrew. 

XVII. 

"  All  saints  defend  me,  and  excuse  a  jest !" 

Muttered  Sir  Gawaine — "  bird  or  fiend  avaunt : 

Oh,  holy  Abel,  let  this  matter  rest, 
I  do  repent  me  of  my  foolish  taunt !" 

With  that  the  cross  upon  his  sword  he  kist, 

And  stared  a«:hast — the  bird  was  on  his  wrist. 


218  KING     ARTHUR. 

XVIII. 

*^  Hem — vade  Satanas  ! — discede  I  7-e^ro," 

The  raven  croak'd,  and  fixed  himself  afresh ; 

'^  Aves  damnata — -juheo  et  iwpetro^' 

Ten  pointed  claws  here  fasten'd  on  his  flesh ; 

The  knight,  sore  smarting,  shook  his  arm — the  bird 

Peck'd  in  reproach,  and  kept  its  perch  nnstirr'd. 

XIX. 

Quoth  Caradoc — whose  time  had  come  to  smile, 
And  smile  he  did  in  grave  and  placid  wise — 

**  Let  not  thine  evil  thoughts,  my  friend,  defile 
The  harmless  wing  descended  from  the  skies." 

** Skies!!!"   said  the  knight — "black  imps  from  skies 
descend 

With  claws  like  these  ! — the  world  is  at  an  end !" 

XX. 

*'  Now  shame,  Gawaine;   0  knight  of  little  heart, 

How  if  a  small  and  inoffensive  raven 
Dismay  thee  thus,  couldst  thou  have  track'd  the  chart 

By  which  ^neas  won  his  Alban-haven  ? 
On  Harpies,  Scylla,  Cerberus,  reflect — 
And  undevour'd — rejoice  to  be  but  peckt." 

XXI. 

*'  True,"  said  a  voice  behind  them, — "  gentle  bard. 

In  life  as  verse,  the  art  is  to  compare." 
Gawaine  turn'd  short,  gazed  keenly,  and  breathed  hard 

As  on  the  dark  robed  magi  an  streamed  the  glare 
Of  the  huge  watchfire — "  Prophet,"  quoth  Gawaine, 
*■*  My  friend  scorns  pecking — let  him  try  the  pain. 


BOOK    YI.  219 


XXII. 


'^  Please  to  call  back  this — offspring  of  the  skies ! 

Unworthy  I  to  be  his  earthly  rest !" 
"  Methought,"  said  Merlin,  "  that  thy  King's  emprize 

Had  found  in  thee  a  less  reluctant  breast ; 
Again  is  friendship  granted  to  his  side — 
Thee  the  bird  summons^  be  the  bird  thy  guide." 

XXIII. 

Dumb  stared  the  knight — stared  first  upon  the  seer. 
Then  on  the  raven, — who  demure  and  sly, 

Turn'd  on  his  master  a  respectful  ear, 
And  on  Gawaine  a  magisterial  eye. 

''  What  hath  a  king  with  ravens,  seer,  to  do  ?" 

"  Woden  the  king  of  half  the  world  had  two. 

XXIV. 

"  Peace — if  thy  friendship  answer  to  its  boast. 
Arm,  take  thy  steed  and  with  the  dawn  depart — 

The  bird  will  lead  thee  to  the  ocean  coast ; 
Strange  are  thy  trials,  stalwart  be  thy  heart." 

"  Seer,"  quoth  Gawaine,  "  my  heart  I  hope  is  tough 

Nor  needs  a  prop  from  this  portentous  chough. 

XXV. 

"  You  know  the  proverb — '  birds  of  the  same  feather,' 
A  proverb  much  enforced  in  penal  laws,'^' 

In  certain  quarters  were  we  seen  together 
It  might,  I  fear  suffice  to  damn  my  cause  : 

You  cite  examples  apt  and  edifying — 

Woden  kept  ravens  ! — well,  and  Woden's  frying  !" 

•  In  Welch  laws  it  was  sufficient  to  condemn  a  person  to  be  found  with  noto- 
rious offenders. 


220  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXVI. 

The  enchanter  smiled,  in  pity  or  in  scorn ; 

The  smile  was  sad,  but  loftj^,  calm,  and  cold — 
"  The  straws,"  he  said,  "  on  passing  wdnds  upborne 

Dismay  the  courser — is  the  man  more  bold  ? 
Dismiss  thy  terrors,  go  thy  w  ays,  my  son, 
To  do  thy  duty  is  the  fiend  to  shun. 

XXVII. 

"  Not  for  thy  sake  the  bird  is  given  to  thee. 

But  for  thy  King's." — "  Enough,"  replied  the  knight, 

And  bow'd  his  head.     The  bird  rose  jocundly. 
Spread  its  dark  wing  and  rested  in  the  light — 

"  Sir  Bard,"  to  Carodoc  the  chosen  said 

In  the  close  whisjoer  of  a  knight  well  bred : 

XXVIII. 

"  Vow'd  to  my  King — come  man,  come  fiend,  I  go, 
But  ne'er  expect  to  see  thy  friend  again. 

That  bird  carnivorous  hath  designs  I  know 
Most  Anthropophagous  on  doom'd  Gawaine ; 

I  leave  you  all  the  goods  that  most  I  j^rize — 

Three  steeds,  six  hawks,  four  gre-hounds,  two  blue  eyes. 

XXIX. 

"  Beat  back  the  Saxons — beat  them  well,  my  friend. 
And  when  they  're  beaten,  and  your  hand  's  at  leisure, 

Set  to  your  harp  a  ditty  on  my  end — 

The  most  appropriate  were  the  shortest  measure : 

Forewarn'd  by  me  all  light  discourses  shun. 

And  mostly — jests  on  Adam's  second  son." 


BOOK    VI.  221 

XXX. 

He  said,  and  wended  down  the  glowing  hill. 

Long  watch'd  the  minstrel  with  a  wistful  gaze, 
Then  join'd  the  musing  seer — and  both  were  still, 

Still  mid  the  ruins — girded  with  the  rays ; 
Twin  heirs  of  light  and  lords  of  time,  gray  Truth 
That  ne'er  is  young — and  Song  the  only  youth. 

XXXI. 

At  dawn  Sir  Gawaine  through  the  postern  stole, 
But  first  he  sought  one  reverend  friend — a  bishop, 

By  him  assoil'd  and  shrived,  he  felt  his  soul 

Too  clean  for  cooks  that  fry  for  fiends  to  dish  up ; 

And  then  suggested,  lighter  and  elater. 

To  cross  the  raven  with  some  holy  water. 

XXXII. 

Henricus — so  the  prelate  sign'd  his  name- 


Was  lord  high  chancellor  in  things  religious ; 
With  him  church  militant  in  truth  became 

[Nam  cedant  anna  togce)  church  litigious ; 
He  kept  his  deacons  notably  in  awe 
By  flowers  epistolar  perfumed  with  law. 

XXXIII. 

No  man  more  stern,  more  fortiter  in  re. 

No  man  more  mild,  more  siiaviter  in  modo; 

When  knots  grew  tough,  it  was  sublime  to  see 
Such  polished  sheers  go  clippingly  in  nodo: 

A  hand  so  supple,  pliant,  glib,  and  quick, 

Ne'er  smooth'd  a  band,  or  burn'd  a  heretic. 


222  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXXIV. 

He  seem'd  to  turn  to  you  his  willing  clieek, 
And  beg  you  not  to  smite  too  hard  the  other ; 

He  seized  his  victim  with  a  smile  so  meek, 
And  wept  so  fondly  o'er  his  erring  brother, 

No  wolf  more  righteous  on  a  lamb  could  sup, 

You  vex'd  his  stream — he  grieved — and  eat  you  up. 

XXXV. 

"  Son,"  said  Henricus,  "  what  you  now  propose 
Is  wise  and  pious — fit  for  a  beginning ; 

But  sinful  things,  I  fear  me,  but  disclose, 
In  sin,  perverted  appetite  for  sinning ; 

Hoj)eless  to  cure — we  only  can  detect  it. 

First  cross  the  bird  and  then  (he  groaned)  dissect  itT 

XXXVI. 

Till  now,  the  raven  perch'd  on  Gawaine's  chair, 
Had  seem'd  indulging  in  a  placid  doze, 

And  if  he  heard,  he  seem'd  no  jot  to  care 

For  threats  of  sprinkling  his  demoniac  clothes, 

But  when  the  priest  the  closing  words  let  drop 

He  hopp'd  away  as  fast  as  he  could  hop. 

XXXVII. 

Gain'd  a  safe  corner,  on  a  pile  of  tomes, 

Tracts  against  Arius — bulls  against  Pelagius, 

The  church  of  Cymri's  controverse  with  Rome's — 
Those  fierce  materials  seem'd  to  be  contagious, 

For  there,  with  open  beak  and  glowering  eye, 

The  bird  seem'd  croaking  forth,  '^  Dissect  me  !  try !" 


BOOK   yi.  223 

XXXVIII. 

This  sight,  perchance,  the  prelate's  pious  plan 
Relax'd ;  he  gazed,  recoifd,  and  faltering  said, 

"  'T  is  clear  the  monster  is  the  foe  of  man. 
His  beak  how  pointed  !  and  his  eyes  how  red  ! 

Demons  are  spirits ; — spirits,  on  reflexion. 

Are  forms  phantasmal,  that  defy  dissection." 

XXXIX. 

^^  Truly,"  sigh'd  Gawaine,  "  but  the  holy  water !" 
"  No,"  cried  the  Prelate,  ''  ineffective  here. 

Try,  but  not  now,  a  simple  noster-pater, 
Or  chaunt  a  hymn.     I  dare  not  yiterfere ; 

Act  for  yourself — and  say  your  catechism ; 

Were  I  to  meddle,  it  would  cause  a  schism." 

XL. 

*^  A  schism !" — "The  church,  though  always  in  the  right, 
Holds  two  opinions,  both  extremely  able ; 

This  makes  the  Rubric  rest  on  gowns  of  white. 
That  makes  the  church  itself  depend  on  sable ; 

Were  I  to  exorcise  that  raven-back, 

'T  would  favour  white,  and  raise  the  deuce  in  black.* 

•  If  the  celebrated  controversy  between  Black  and  White  which  divided  the 
Cymrian  church  in  King  Arthur's  days,  should  seem  to  suggest  a  parallel  in- 
stance in  our  own, — the  Author  begs  sincerely  to  say  that  he  is  more  inclined  to 
grieve  than  to  jest  at  a  schism  which  threatens  to  separate  from  so  large  a  body 
of  the  lay  upholders  of  the  English  church,  the  abilities  and  learning  of  no  despicable 
portion  of  the  English  clergy.  There  is  a  divsion  more  dangerous  than  that  between 
theologian  and  theologian  — wj,  a  division  between  the  Pastors  and  their  flocks — 
between  the  teaciiing  of  the  pulpit  and  the  sympathy  of  the  audience.  Far  from 
the  Author  be  the  rash  presumption  to  hazard  any  opinion  as  to  matters  of  doctrine 
on  which — such  as  Regeneration  by  Baptism — it  cannot  be  expected  that,  for  the 
sake  of  expediency  or  even  concord,  the  remarkable  thinkers  who  have  emerged 
from  the  schools  of  Oxford  should  admit  of  compromise ; — but  he  asks,  with  the 
respect  due  to  zeal  and  erudition,  whether  it  be  worth  while  to  inflame,  dispute,  and 
risk  congregations — for  the  colour  of  a  gown  1 


224  KING    ARTHUR. 


XLI. 


^'  Depart,  my  son — at  once,  depart,  I  praj^ 

Pay  up  your  dues,  and  keep  your  mind  at  ease. 

And  call  that  creature — no,  the  other  way — 
When  fairl}'  out,  a  credo,  if  you  please; 

(jo, — pax  vohiscum  ; — shut  the  door  I  beg. 

And  stay;  on  Friday,  flogging, — with  an  egg!" 

XLII. 

Out  went  the  knight,  more  puzzled  than  before; 

And  out,  unsprinkled,  flew  the  Stygian  bird; 
The  bishop  rose,  and  doubly  locked  the  door; 

His  pen  he  mended,  and  his  fire  he  stirr'd; 
Then  solved  that  problem — ''  Pons  Diaconorum," 
White  equals  black,  plus  x  y  botherorum. 

XLIII. 

So  through  the  postern  stole  the  troubled  knight; 

Still  as  he  rode,  from  forest,  mount,  and  vale, 
Kung  lively  horns,  and  in  the  morning  light 

Flash'd  the  sheen  banderoll,  and  the  pomp  of  mail, 
The  welcome  guests  of  War's  blithe  festival. 
Keen  for  the  feast,  and  summoned  to  the  hall. 

XLIV. 

Curt  answer  gave  the  knight  to  greeting  gay. 
And  none  to  taunt  from  scurril  churl  unkind. 

Oft  asking,  '  if  he  did  mistake  the  way  ?' — 
Or  hinting,  'war  was  what  he  left  behind;' 

As  noon  came  on,  such  sights  and  connnents  cease, 

Lone  through  the  pasture  rides  the  knight  in  peace. 


BOOK  VI.  225 


XLV. 

Grave  as  a  funeral  mourner  rode  Gawaine — 
The  bird  went  first  in  most  indecent  glee, 

Now  lost  to  sight,  now  gambling  back  again — 
Now  munch'd  a  beetle,  and  now  chased  a  bee- 

Now  pluck'd  the  wool  from  meditative  lamb, 

Now  pick'd  a  quarrel  with  a  lusty  ram. 


XLVI. 

Sharp  through  his  vizor  Gawaine  watch'd  the  thing, 
With  dire  misgivings  at  that  impish  mirth  : 

Day  wax'd — day  waned — and  still  the  dusky  wing 
Seem'd  not  to  find  one  resting  place  on  earth. 

"  Saints,"  groaned  Gawaine,  "  have  mercy  on  a  sinner, 

And  move  that  devil — just  to  stop  for  dinner!" 

XLVII. 

The  bird  turn'd  round,  as  if  it  understood, 

Halted  the  wing,  and  seem'd  awhile  to  muse ; — 

Then  dives  at  once  into  a  dismal  wood, 

And  grumbling  much,  the  hungry  knight  pursues, 

To  hear  (and  hearing,  hope  once  more  revives,) 

Sweet-clinking  horns,  and  gently-clashing  knives. 

XLVIII. 

An  opening  glade  a  pleasant  group  displays  ; 

Ladies  and  knights  amidst  the  woodland  feast ; 
Around  them,  reinless,  steed  and  palfrey  graze ; 

To  earth  leaps  Gawaine — "  I  shall  dine  at  least." 
His  casque  he  doffs — "  Good  knights  and  ladies  fair, 
Vouchsafe  a  famish'd  man  your  feast  to  share." 

15 


226  KING     ARTHUR. 

XLIX. 

Loud  laugli'd  a  big,  broad-shouldered,  burly  host ; 

"  On  two  conditions,  eat  thy  fill,"  quoth  he ; 
"  Before  one  dines,  't  is  well  to  know  the  cost — 

Tliou'lt  Aved  my  daughter,  and  thou'lt  fight  with  me." 
''  Sir  Host,"  said  Gawaine,  as  he  stretched  his  platter, 
'^I  '11  first  the  pie  discuss,  and  then  the  matter." 

L. 

The  ladies  looked  upon  the  comely  knight. 

His  arch  bright  eye  provoked  the  smile  it  found ; 

The  men  admired  that  vasty  appetite, 
Meet  to  do  honour  to  the  Table  Kound ; 

The  host,  reseated,  sent  the  guest  his  horn, 

Brimm'd  with  pure  drinks  distill'd  from  barley  corn. 

LI. 

Drinks  rare  in  Cymri,  true  to  milder  mead, 

But  long  familiar  to  Milesian  lays. 
So  huge  that  draught,  it  had  dispatch'd  with  speed 

Ten  Irish  chiefs  in  these  degenerate  days : 
Sir  Gawaine  drained  it,  and  Sir  Gawaine  laugh'd, 
''  Cool  is  your  drink,  though  scanty  is  the  draught ; 

LII. 

^'  But,  pray  you  pardon,  (sir,  a  slice  of  boar,) 

Judged  by  your  accent,  mantles,  beards,  and  wine, 

(If  wine  this  be)  ye  come  from  Huerdan's*  shore, 
To  aid  no  doubt  our  kindred  Celtic  line ; 

Ye  saw  the  watch-fires  on  our  hills  at  night. 

And  march  to  Carduel  ?  read  I,  sirs,  aright  ?" 

*  lIuEiiDAN,  /*.  €.  Ireland,  pronounced,  in  the  Poem,  as  a  dissyllable. 


BOOK  yi.  227 

LIII. 

"  Stranger,"  replied  the  host,  "  your  guess  is  wrong, 
And  shows  your  lack  of  history  and  reflection ; 

Huerdan  with  Cymri  is  allied  too  long, 

We  come,  my  friend,  to  sever  the  connexion : 

But  first,  (your  bees  are  wonderful  for  honey,) 

Yield  us  your  hives — in  plainer  words,  your  money." 

LIV. 

"Friend,"  said  the  golden-tongued  Gawaine,  "methought 
Your  mines  were  rich  in  wealthier  ore  than  ours." 

"True,"  said  the  host,  superbly,  "were  they  wrought! 
But  shall  Milesians  waste  in  work  their  powers  ? 

Base  was  that  thought,  the  heartless  insult  masking." 

"  Faith,"  said  Gawaine,  "  gold's  easier  got  by  asking." 

LV. 

Upsprung  the  host,  upsprung  the  guests  in  ire — 
Upsprung  the  gentle  dames,  and  fled  affrighted ; 

High  rose  the  din,  than  all  the  din  rose  higher 
The  croak  of  that  cursed  raven  quite  delighted ; 

Sir  Gawaine  finished  his  last  slice  of  boar. 

And  said  "  Good  friends,  more  business  and  less  roar. 

LVI. 

"  If  you  want  peace — shake  hands,  and  peace,  I  say. 
If  you  want  fighting,  gramercy !  we  '11  fight." 

"  Ho,"  cried  the  host,  "your  dinner  you  must  pay — 
The  two  conditions." — "  Host,  you're  in  the  right, 

To  fight  I  'm  willing,  but  to  wed  I  'm  loth ; 

I  choose  the  first." — "  Your  word  is  bound  to  hotli : 


228  KING    ARTHUR. 

LVII. 

"  Me  first  engaged,  if  conquered  you  are — dead, 
And  then  alone  your  honour  is  acquitted ; 

But  conquer  me,  and  then  you  must  be  wed ; 
You  ate  ! — the  contract  in  that  act  admitted." 

"  Host,"  cried  the  knight,  half  stunned  by  all  the  clatter, 

"  1  only  said  I  would  discuss  the  matter. 

LVIII. 

"  But  if  your  faith  upon  my  word  reposed, 

That  thought  alone  King  Arthur's  knight  shall  bind." 

Few  moments  more,  and  host  and  guest  had  closed — 
For  blows  come  quick  when  folks  are  so  inclined : 

They  foined,  they  fenced,  changed  play,  and  hack'd 
and  hewed — 

Paused,  panted,  eyed  each  other,  and  renew'd  -, 

LIX. 

At  length  a  dexterous  and  back-handed  blow. 

Clove  the  host's  casque  and  bow'd  him  to  his  knee. 

"  Host,"  said  the  Cymrian  to  his  fallen  foe ; 

"  But  for  thy  dinner,  wolves  should  dine  on  thee ; 

Yield — thou  bleed'st  badly — yield  and  ask  thy  life." 

"  Content,"  the  host  replied — "  embrace  thy  wife." 

LX. 

"  0  cursed  bird,"  cried  Gawaine,  with  a  groan, 

"  To  what  fell  trap  my  wretched  feet  were  carried ; 

My  darkest  dreams  had  ne'er  this  fate  foreshown — 
I  sate  to  dine,  1  rise  and  I  am  married  ! 

0  worse  than  Esau,  miserable  elf. 

He  sold  his  birthright — but  he  kept  himself." 


BOOK  VI.  229 

LXI. 

While  thus  in  doleful  and  heart-rending  strain 

Mourned  the  lost  knight,  the  host  his  daughter  led, 

Placed  her  soft  hand  in  that  of  sad  Gawaine — 

"  Joy  be  with  both !" — the  bridegroom  shook  his  head ! 

"  I  have  a  castle  which  I  won  by  force — 

Mount,  happy  man^  for  thither  wends  our  course  : 

Lxir. 

"  Page,  bind  my  scalp — to  broken  scalps  we're  used. 

Your  bride,  brave  son,  is  worthy  of  your  merit ; 
No  man  alive  has  Erin's  maids  accused, 

And  least  that  maiden,  of  a  want  of  spirit ; 
She  plies  a  sword  as  well  as  you,  fair  sir, 
When  out  of  hand,  just  try  your  hand  on  her." 

LXIIT. 

Not  once  Sir  Gawaine  lifts  his  leaden  eyes. 
To  mark  the  bride  by  partial  father  praised, 

But  mounts  his  steed — the  gleesome  raven  flies 
Before  ;  beside  him  rides  the  maid  amazed  : 

"  Sir  Knight,"  said  she  at  last,  with  clear  loud  voice, 

"  I  hope  your  musings  do  not  blame  your  choice  ?" 

LXIV. 

"'  Damsel,"  replied  the  knight  of  golden  tongue, 

As  with  some  effort  he  replied  at  all, 
"  Sith  our  two  skeins  in  one  the  Fates  have  strumr, 

My  thoughts  were  guessing  when  the  shears  would  fall ; 
Much  irks  it  me,  lest  vowed  to  toil  and  strife, 
I  doom  a  widow  where  I  make  a  wife. 


230  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXV. 

"  And  sooth  to  say,  despite  those  matchless  charms 
Which  well  might  fire  our  last  new  saint,  Dubricius, 

To-morrow's  morn  must  snatch  me  from  thine  arms ; 
Led  to  far  lands  by  auguries,  not  auspicious — 

Wise  to  postpone  a  bond,  how  dear  soever, 

Till  my  return." — "  Return  !  that  may  be  never ; 

LXVI. 

"  What  if  you  fall  ?  (since  thus  you  tempt  the  fates) 
The  yew  will  flourish  where  the  lily  fades  5 

The  laidliest  widows  find  consoling  mates 

With  far  less  trouble  than  the  comeliest  maids ; 

Wherefore,  Sir  Husband,  have  a  cheerful  mind, 

Wliate'er  may  chance  your  wife  will  be  resign'd." 

LXVII. 

That  loving  comfort,  arguing  sense  discreet. 
But  coldly  pleased  the  knight's  ungrateful  ear, 

But  while  devising  still  some  vile  retreat. 

The  trumpets  flourish  and  the  walls  frown  near ; 

Just  as  the  witching  night  begins  to  fall 

They  pass  the  gates  and  enter  in  the  hall. 

LXVIII. 

Soon  in  those  times  prima3val  came  the  hour 
When  balmy  sleep  did  wasted  strength  repair, 

They  led  Sir  Gawaine  to  the  lady's  bower, 
Unbraced  his  mail  and  left  him  with  the  fair  j 

Then  first  demurely  seated  side  by  side, 

The  dolorous  bridegroom  gazed  upon  the  bride. 


BOOK   yi.  231 

LXIX. 

No  iron  heart  had  he  of  golden  tongue, 
To  beauty  none  by  nature  were  23oliter ; 

The  bride  was  tall  and  buxom,  fresh  and  young, 

And  while  he  gazed,  his  tearful  eyes  grew  brighter — 

"  '  For  good,  for  better,'  runs  the  sacred  verse, 

Sith  now  no  better — let  me  brave  the  worse." 

LXX. 

With  that  he  took  and  kiss'd  the  lady's  hand, 

The  lady  smiled  and  GaAvaine's  heart  grew  bolder, 

When  from  the  roof  by  some  unseen  command 

Flash'd  down  a  sword  and  smote  him  on  the  shoulder ; 

The  knight  leapt  up,  sore-bleeding  from  the  stroke, 

While  from  the  lattice  cawed  the  merriest  croak ! 

LXXI, 

Aghast  he  gazed — the  sword  within  the  roof 
Again  had  vanished ;  nought  was  to  be  seen — 

He  felt  his  shoulder,  and  remain'd  aloof.  [mean." 

"  Fair  dame,"  quoth    he,   "  explain  what  this  may 

The  bride  replied  not,  hid  her  face  and  wept; 

Moved,  to  her  side,  with  caution,  Gawaine  crept. 

LXXII. 

"  Nay,  weep  not,  sweetheart,  but  a  scratch — no  more," 
He  bent  to  kiss  the  dew-drops  from  his  rose, 

When  presto  down  the  glaive  enchanted  shore — 
Gawaine  leapt  back  in  time  to  save  his  nose. 

"  Ah,  cruel  father,"  groaned  the  lady  then, 

"  I  hoped  at  least  thou  wert  content  with  ten  !" 


232  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXIII. 

''  Ten  what  ?"  said  Gawaine. — "Gallant  knights  like  thee, 
Who  fonght  and  conquer  d  my  deceitful  sire ; 

Married,  as  thou,  to  miserable  me. 

And  doom'd  as  thou,  beneath  the  sword  to  expire — 

By  this  device  he  gains  their  arms  and  steeds, 

So  where  force  fails  him,  there  the  fraud  succeeds." 

LXXIV. 

"  Foul  felon  host,"  the  wrathful  knight  exclaims, 
"  Foul  w^izard  bird,  no  doubt  in  league  with  him ! 

Have  they  no  dread  lest  all  good  knights  and  dames 
Save  fiends  their  task,  and  rend  them  limb  from  limb  ? 

But  thou  for  Gawaine  ne'er  shalt  be  a  mourner. 

Thou  keep  the  couch,  and  I — yon  farthest  corner !" 

LXXV. 

This  said,  the  prudent  knight  on  tiptoe  stealing 
Went  from  his  bride  as  far  as  he  could  go, 

Then  laid  him  down,  intent  upon  the  ceiling ; 
Noses,  once  lost,  no  second  crop  will  grow — 

So  watch'd  Sir  Gawaine,  so  the  lady  wept, 

Perch'd  on  the  lattice-sill  the  raven  slept. 

LXXVI. 

Uprose  the  sun  and  uprose  blithe  Gawaine — 
Steps  climb  the  stair,  a  hand  unbars  the  door — 

"  Saints,"  cries  the  host,  and  stares  upon  the  tw^ain, 
Amazed  to  see  that  living  guest  once  more — 

"  Did  you  sleep  well  ?" — "  Why,  yes,"  replied  the  knight, 

"  One  gnat,  indeed  ; — but  gnats  were  made  to  bite. 


BOOK  yi.  233 

LXXVII. 

"  Man  must  leave  insects  to  their  insect  law ; — 

Now  thanks,  kind  host,  for  board  and  bed  and  all — 

Depart  I  must," — the  raven  gave  a  caw. 

"  And  I  with  thee,"  chimed  in  that  damsel  tall. 

"  Nay,"  said  Gawaine,  "  I  wend  on  ways  of  strife," 

''  Sir,  hold  your  tongue — I  choose  it )  I'm  your  wife." 

LXXVIII. 

With  that  the  lady  took  him  by  the  hand. 
And  led  him,  fall'n  of  crest,  adown  the  stair ; 

Buckled  his  mail,  and  girded  on  his  brand, 

Brimm'd  full  the  goblet  nor  disdained  to  share — 

The  host  saith  nothing,  or  to  knight  or  bride ; 

Forth  comes  the  steed — a  palfrey  by  its  side. 

LXXIX. 

Then  Gawaine  flung  from  the  untasted  board 
His  manchet  to  a  hound  with  hungry  face ; 

Sprung  to  his  selle,  and  wish'd,  too  late,  that  sword 
Had  closed  his  miseries  with  a  coup  de  grace. 

They  clear  the  walls,  the  open  road  they  gain ; 

The  bride  rode  dauntless — daunted  much  Gawaine. 

LXXX. 

Gaily  the  fair  discoursed  on  many  things. 

But  most  on  those  ten  lords — his  time  before, 

Unhappy  wights,  who,  as  old  Homer  sings, 
Had  gone,  '  Proiapsoi,'  to  the  Stygian  shore ; 

Then,  each  described  and  praised, — she  smiled  and  said, 

"  But  one  live  dog  is  worth  ten  lions  dead." 


234  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXXI. 

The  kniglit  prepared  that  proverb  to  refute, 
When  the  bird  beckoned  down  a  delving  lane, 

And  there  the  bride  provoked  a  new  dispute : 

That  path  was  frightful — she  preferred  the  plain. 

"  Dame,"  said  the  knight,  "  not  I  your  steps  compel- 

Take  thou  the  2:)lain  ! — adieu  !  I  take  the  dell." 

LXXXII. 

^5 Ah,  cruel  lord,"  with  gentle  voice  and  mien 
The  lady  murmur'd,  and  regained  his  side ; 

"  Little  thou  know'st  of  woman's  faith,  I  ween. 
All  paths  alike  save  those  that  would  divide ; 

Ungrateful  knight — too  dearly  loved." — "  But  then," 

Falter'd  Gawaine,  "you  said  the  same  to  tenT 

LXXXIII. 

"  Ah  no ;  their  deaths  alone  their  lives  endeared. 

Slain  for  my  sake,  as  I  could  die  for  thine ;" 
And  while  she  spoke  so  lovely  she  apjDcared 

The  knight  did,  blissful,  towards  her  cheek  incline- 
But,  ere  a  tender  kiss  his  thanks  could  say, 
A  strong  hand  jerked  the  palfrey's  neck  away. 

LXXXI  V. 

Unseen  till  then,  from  out  the  bosky  dell 

Had  leapt  a  huge,  black-brow'd,  gigantic  wight ; 

Suddenly  he  swung  the  lady  from  her  selle. 

And  seized  that  kiss  defrauded  from  the  kniglit, 

While,  with  loud  voice  and  gest  uncouth,  he  swore 

So  fair  a  cheek  he  ne'er  had  kiss'd  before ! 


BOOK    YI.  235 

LXXXV. 

With  mickle  wrath  Sir  Gawaine  sprang  from  steed, 
And,  quite  forgetful  of  his  wonted  j^arle, 

He  did  at  once  without  a  word  proceed 
To  make  a  ghost  of  that  presuming  carle. 

The  carle,  nor  ghost  nor  flesh  inclined  to  yield. 

Took  to  his  club,  and  made  the  bride  his  shield. 

LXXXVI. 

"  Hold,  stay  thine  hand !"  the  hapless  lady  cried. 
As  high  in  air  the  knight  his  falchion  rears ; 

The  carle  his  laidly  jaws  distended  wide. 

And — "  Ho,"  he  laughed,  "  for  me  the  sweet  one  fears, 

Strike,  if  thou  durst,  and  pierce  two  hearts  in  one, 

Or  yield  the  prize — by  love  already  won." 

LXXXVII. 

In  high  disdain,  the  knight  of  golden  tongue 

Looked  this  way,  that,  revolving  where  to  smite ; 

Still  as  he  looked,  and  turned,  the  giant  swung 
The  unknightly  buckler  round  from  left  to  right. 

Then  said  the  carle — "  What  need  of  steel  and  strife  ? 

A  word  in  time  may  often  save  a  life. 

LXXXVIII. 

"  This  lady  me  prefers,  or  I  mistake. 

Most  ladies  like  an  honest  hearty  wooer ; 

Abide  the  issue,  she  her  choice  shall  make ; 
Dare  you,  sir  rival,  leave  the  question  to  her  ? 

If  so,  resheathe  your  sword,  remount  your  steed, 

I  loose  the  lady  and  retire." — "Agreed," 


236  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXXIX. 

Sir  Gawaine  answered — sure  of  the  result, 
And  charmed  the  fair  so  cheaply  to  deliver; 

But  ladies'  hearts  are  hidden  and  occult, 
Deep  as  the  sea,  and  changeful  as  the  river. 

The  carle  released  the  fair,  and  left  her  free — 

'^  Caw,"  said  the  raven,  from  the  willow  tree. 

xc. 
A  winsome  knight  all  know  was  fair  Gawaine 

(No  knight  more  winsome  shone  in  Arthur  s  court  -) 
The  carle's  rough  features  were  of  homeliest  grain. 

As  shaped  by  Nature  in  burlesque  and  sj^ort ; 
The  lady  looked  and  mused,  and  scanned  the  two. 
Then  made  her  choice — the  carle  had  spoken  true. 

XCI. 

The  knight  forsaken  rubbed  astounded  eyes. 
Then  touch'd  his  steed  and  slowly  rode  away — 

'*  Bird,"  quoth  Gawaine,  as  on  the  raven  flies, 
"  Be  peace  between  us,  from  this  blessed  day ; 

One  single  act  has  made  me  thine  for  life, 

Thou  hast  shown  the  path  by  which  I  lost  a  wife !" 

XCII. 

While  thus  his  grateful  thought  Sir  Gawaine  vents, 
He  hears,  behind,  the  carle's  Stentorian  cries ; 

He  turns,  he  pales,  he  groans — "  The  carle  repents ! 
No,  by  the  saints,  he  keeps  her  or  he  dies !" 

Here  at  his  stirrups  stands  the  panting  wight — 

^'  The  lady's  hound,  restore  the  hound,  sir  knight." 


BOOK   yi.  237 

XCIII. 

"  The  hound,"  said  Gawaine,  much    relieved,  '-  what 
hound  ?" 
And  then  perceived  he  that  the  dog  he  fed, 
With  grateful  steps  the  kindly  guest  had  found, 

And  there  stood  faithful. — "  Friend,"  Sir  Gawaine  said 
"  What's  just  is  just !  the  dog  must  have  his  due, 
The  dame  had  hers,  to  choose  between  the  two." 

xciv. 

The  carle  demurred;  but  justice  was  so  clear, 

He'd  nought  to  urge  against  the  equal  law; 
He  calls  the  hound,  the  hound  disdains  to  hear, 

He  nears  the  hound,  the  hound  expands  his  jaw ; 
The  fangs  were  strong  and  sharp,  that  jaw  within. 
The  carle  drew  back — "  Sir  knight,  I  fear  you  win." 

xcv. 
"  My  friend,"  replies  Gawaine,  the  ever  bland, 

"  I  took  thy  lesson,  in  return  take  mine ; 
All  human  ties,  alas,  are  ropes  of  sand. 

My  lot  to-day  to-morrow  may  be  thine; 
But  never  yet  the  dog  our  bounty  fed, 
Betrayed  the  kindness  or  forgot  the  bread."* 

XCVI. 

With  that  the  courteous  hand  he  gravely  w^aived, 
Nor  deemed  it  prudent  longer  to  delay; 

Tempt  not  the  retlow,  from  the  ebb  just  saved! 
He  spurred  his  steed,  and  vanished  from  the  way. 

Sure  of  rebuke  and  troubled  in  his  mind. 

An  altered  man,  the  carle  his  fair  rejoined. 

*  The  whole  of  that  part  of  Sir  Gavvaine's  adventures  which  includes  the  inci- 
dents of  the  sword  and  the  hound,  is  borrowed  (with  alterations)  from  one  of  Lb 
Gkanu's  Fabliaux. 


238  KING    ARTHUR. 

XCVII. 

That  day  the  raven  led  the  knight  to  dine 

Where  merry  monks  spread  no  abstemious  board; 

Dainty  the  meat,  and  deHcate  the  wine, 

Sir  Gawaine  felt  his  sprightlier  self  restored ; 

When  towards  the  eve  the  raven  croaked  anew. 

And  spread  the  wing  for  Gawaine  to  pursue. 

XCVIII. 

With  clouded  brow  the  pliant  knight  obeyed, 
And  took  his  leave,  and  quaffed  the  stirrup  cup; 

And  briskly  rode  he  thorough  glen  and  glade, 
Till  the  fair  moon,  to  speak  in  prose,  was  up; 

Then  to  the  raven,  now  familiar  grown. 

He  said-"  Friend  bird,  night's  made  for  sleeep,  you'll  own, 

xcix. 

"  This  oak  presents  a  choice  of  boughs  for  you, 
For  me  a  curtain  and  a  grassy  mound." 

Straight  to  the  oak  the  obedient  raven  flew, 
And  croak'd  with  merry,  yet  malignant  sound. 

The  luckless  knight  thought  nothing  of  the  croak, 

And  laid  him  down  beneath  the  Fairy's  Oak. 

c. 

Of  evil  fame  was  Nannau's  antique  tree. 

Yet  styled  "  the  hollow  oak  of  demon  race  ;"* 

But  blithe  Gwyn  ab  Nudd's  eljihin  family 

Were  the  gay  demons  of  the  slandered  place; 

And  ne'er  in  scene  more  elphin,  near  and  far. 

On  dancing  fairies  glanced  the  smiling  star. 

•  In  the  domain  of  Nannau  (which  now  belongs  to  the  Vaiighans)  was  standing 
to  within  a  period  comparati%'ely  recent,  the  legendary  oak  called  Dcrwen  Ccubren 
yr  Ellyll — the  hollow  oak,  the  haunt  of  demons. 


BOOK  yi.  239 

CI. 

Whether  thy  chafing  torrent,  rock-born  Caine, 
Flash  through  the  deUcate  birch  and  glossy  elm, 

Or  prison'd  Mawddach'^'  clangs  his  triple  chain 
Of  waters,  fleeing  to  the  happier  realm. 

Where  his  course  broad'ning  smiles  along  the  land ; 

So  souls  grow  tranquil  as  their  thoughts  expand. 

cii. 

High  over  subject  vales  the  brow  serene 

Of  the  lone  mountain  look'd  on  moonlit  skies ; 

Wide  glades  far  opening  into  swards  of  green, 
With  shimmering  foliage  of  a  thousand  dies, 

And  tedded  tufts  of  heath,  and  ivied  boles 

Of  trees,  and  wild  flowers,  scenting  bosky  knolls. 

cm. 

And  herds  of  deer  as  slight  as  Jura's  roe,f 
Or  Iran's  shy  gazelle,  on  sheenest  places. 

Grouped  still,  or  flitted  the  far  allies  thro' ; 
The  fairy  quarry  for  the  fairy  chases; 

Or  wheel'd  the  bat,  brushing  o'er  break  and  scaur, 

Lured  by  the  moth,  as  lures  the  moth  the  star. 

CIV. 

Sir  Gawaine  slept — Sir  Gawaine  slept  not  long, 
His  ears  were  tickled,  and  his  nose  was  tweaked ; 

Light  feet  ran  quick  his  stalwart  limbs  along. 

Light  fingers  pinched  him,  and  light  voices  squeak'd ; 

He  oped  his  eyes,  the  left  and  then  the  right. 

Fair  was  the  scene,  and  hideous  was  his  fright ! 

*  Mawddach,  with  its  three  waterfalls. 

f  The  deer  in  the  park  of  Nannau  are  singularly  small. 


240  KING     ARTHUR. 

t 

cv. 
The  tiny  people  swarm  around,  and  o'er  him, 

Here  on  his  breast  they  lead  the  morris  dance, 
There,  in  each  ray  diagonal  before  him. 

They  wheel,  leap,  pirouette,  caper,  shoot  askance. 
Climb  row  on  row  each  other's  pea-green  shoulder, 
And  mow  and  point  upon  the  shocked  beholder. 

CVI. 

And  some  had  faces  lovelier  than  Cupido's, 

With  rose-bud  lips,  all  dimpling  o'er  with  glee ; 

And  some  had  brows  as  ominous  as  Dido's, 
When  Ilion's  pious  traitor  put  to  sea ; 

Some  had  bull  heads,  some  lion's,  but  in  small. 

And  some  (the  finer  drest)  no  heads  at  all. 

CVII. 

By  mortal  dangers  scared,  the  wise  resort 

To  means  fugacious,  licet  et  licehit; 
But  he  who  settles  in  a  fairy's  court, 

Loses  that  option,  sedet  et  sedehit; 
Thrice  Gawain  strove  to  stir,  nor  stirred  a  jot. 
Charms,  cramps,  and  torments  nailed  him  to  the  spot. 

CVIII. 

Thus  of  his  limbs  deprived,  the  ingenious  knight 
Straightway  betook  him  to  his  golden  tongue — 

"  Angels,"  quoth  he,  "  or  fairies,  with  delight 
I  see  the  race  my  friends  the  bards  have  sung ; 

Much  honoured  that,  in  any  way  expedient. 

You  make  a  ball-room  of  your  most  obedient." 


BOOK  yi.  241 

CIX. 

Floated  a  sound  of  laughter,  musical — 
As  when  in  summer  noon,  melodious  bees 

Cluster  o'er  jasmine  roofs,  or  as  the  fall 
Of  silver  bells,  on  the  Arabian  breeze ; 

What  time  with  chiming  feet  in  palmy  shades 

Move,  round  the  softened  Moor,  his  Georgian  maids. 

ex. 

Forth  from  the  rest  there  stepped  a  princely  fay — 
''  And  well,  sir  mortal,  dost  thou  speak,"  quoth  he, 

"  We  elves  are  seldom  froward  to  the  gay, 
Rise  up,  and  welcome  to  our  company." 

Sir  Gawaine  won  his  footing  with  a  spring, 

Low  bowed  the  knight,  as  low  the  fairy  king. 

CXI. 

"  By  the  bright  diadem  of  dews  congeafd, 
And  purple  robe  of  prank  some  butterfly. 

Your  royal  rank,"  said  Gawaine,  "  is  reveal'd, 
Yet  more,  methinks,  by  yoar  majestic  eye ; 

Of  kings  with  mien  august  I  know  but  two. 

Men  have  their  Arthur, — happier  fairies,  you." 

CXII. 

'^  Methought,"  replied  the  elf,  "  thy  first  accost 
Proclaimed  thee  one  of  Arthur's  peerless  train ; 

Elsewhere  alas  ! — ou^  later  age  hath  lost 

The  blithe  good-breeding  of  King  Saturn's  reign, 

When,  some  four  thousand  years  ago,  with  Fauns, 

We  Fays  made  merry  on  Arcadian  lawns. 

16 


242  KING    ARTHUR. 

cxiir. 

"  Time  flees  so  fast  it  seems  but  yesterday ! 

And  life  is  brief  for  fairies  as  for  men." 
''  Ha,"  said  Gawaine,  "  can  fairies  pass  away  ?" 

^'  Pass  like  the  mist  on  Arran's  wave,  what  then  ? 
At  least  we  're  young  as  long  as  we  survive ; 
Our  vears  six  thousand — I  have  numbered  ^ve. 

CXIV. 

*^  But  we  have  stumbled  on  a  dismal  theme, 
As  always  happens  when  one  meets  a  man — 

Ho  !  stop  that  zephyr ! — Robin,  catch  that  beam  ! 
And  now  my  friend,  we  '11  feast  it  while  we  can." 

The  moonbeam  halts,  the  zephyr  bows  his  wing. 

Light  through  the  leaves  the  laughing  people  spring. 

cxv. 

Then  Gawaine  felt  as  if  he  skirr'd  the  air. 

His  brain  grew  dizzy,  and  his  breath  was  gone; 

He  stopped  at  last,  and  such  inviting  fare 
Never  plump  monk  set  lustful  eyes  upon. 

Wild  sweet-briars  girt  the  banquet,  but  the  brake 

Oped  where  in  moonlight  rippled  Bala's  lake. 

cxvr. 

Such  dainty  cheer — such  rush  of  revelry — 
Such  silver  laughter — -such  arch  happy  faces — 

Such  sportive  quarrels  from  excess  of  glee — 
Hush'd  up  with  such  sly  innocent  embraces. 

Might  well  make  twice  six  thousand  years  appear 

To  elfin  minds  a  sadly  nipped  career ! 


BOOK   yi.  243 

CXVII. 

The  banquet  o'er,  tlie  royal  Fay  intent 
To  do  all  honour  to  King  Arthur's  knight, 

Smote  with  his  rod  the  banks  on  which  they  leant, 
And  Fairy-land  flash'd  glorious  on  the  sight; 

Flash'd,  through  a  silvery,  soft,  translucent  mist. 

The  opal  shafts  and  domes  of  amethyst; 

cxix. 
Flash'd  founts  in  shells  of  pearl,  which  crystal  walls 

And  phosphor  lights  of  myriad  hues  redouble ; 
There,  in  the  blissful  subterranean  halls. 

When  morning  wakes  the  world  of  human  trouble, 
Glide  the  gay  race;  each  sound  our  discord  knows. 
Faint-heard  above,  but  lulls  them  to  repose. 

cxx. 

0  Gawaine,  blush  !     Alas !  that  gorgeous  sight. 
But  woke  the  latent  mammon  in  the  man. 

While  fairy  treasures  shone  u|)on  the  knight. 
His  greedy  thoughts  on  lands  and  castles  ran ; 

He  stretch'd  his  hands,  he  felt  the  fingers  itch, 

"Sir  Fay,"  quoth  he  "you  must  be  monstrous  rich !" 

CXXI. 

Scarce  fall  the  words  from  those  unlucky  lips. 

Than  down  rush'd  darkness,  flooding  all  the  place; 

His  feet  a  fairy  in  a  twinkle  trips ; 

A  swarm  of  wasps  seem  settling  on  his  face ; 

Pounce  on  their  prey  the  tiny  torturers  flew. 

And  sang  this  moral  while  they  pinch'd  him  blue ; 


244  KING    ARTHUR. 


CHORUS  OF  PREACHING  FAIRIEb. 

Joy  to  him  who  fhiry  treasures 
With  a  fairy's  eye  can  see ; 

AVoe  to  him  who  counts  and  measures 
What  the  worth  in  coin  may  be. 

Gems  from  withered  leaves  we  fashion 
For  the  spirit  pure  from  stain  ; 

Grasp  them  with  a  sordid  passion, 
And  they  turn  to  leaves  again. 

CHORUS  OF  nXCHING  FAIRIES. 

Here  and  there  and  every  where, 

Tramp  and  cramp  him  inch  by  inch ; 

Fair  is  fair, — to  each  his  share, 

You  shall  preach  and  we  will  pinch. 

CHORUS  OF  PREACHING  FAIRIES. 

Fairy  treasures  are  not  rated 
By  their  value  in  the  mart; 

In  thy  bosom,  earth,  created 
For  the  coffers  of  the  heart. 

Dost  thou  covet  fairy  money  ? 

Rifle  but  the  blossom  bells — 
Like  the  wild  bee,  shape  the  honey 

Into  golden  cloister-cells. 

CHORUS  OF  PINCHING  FAIRIES. 

Spirit  hear  it,  flesh  revere  it! 

Stamp  the  lesson  inch  by  inch ! 
Rightly  merit,  flesh  and  spirit. 

This  the  preaching,  that  the  pinch  ! 

CHORUS  OF  PREACHING  FAIRIES. 

Wretched  mortal,  once  invited, 
Fairy  land  was  thine  at  will ; 

Every  little  star  had  lighted 

Revels  when  the  world  was  still. 

Every  bank  a  gate  had  granted 

To  the  topas-paven  halL« — 
Every  M^ave  had  roll'd  enchanted 

From  our  crystal  music-falls. 


BOOK    YI.  245 

CHORUS  OF  PINCHING  FAIRIES. 

Round  him  winging,  sharp  and  stinging, 

Clip  him,  nip  him,  inch  by  inch, 
Sermons  singing,  Avisdom  bringing, 

Point  the  moral  with  a  pinch. 

CHORUS  OF  PREACHING  FAIRIES. 

Now  the  spell  is  lost  forever, 

And  the  common  earth  is  thine ; 
Count  the  traffic  on  the  river. 

Weigh  the  ingots  in  the  mine ; 

Look  around,  aloft  and  under, 

With  an  eye  upon  the  cost; 
Gone  the  happy  world  of  wonder ! 

WoQ,  thy  fairy  land  is  lost! 

CHORUS  OF  PINCHING  FAIRIES. 

Nature  bare  is,  where  thine  air  is, 

Custom  cramps  thee  inch  by  inch; 
And  when  care  is,  human  fairies 

Preach  and — vanish  at  a  pinch ! 

CIX. 

Sudden  they  cease — for  shrill  crow'd  chanticleer ; 

Gray  on  the  darkness  broke  the  glimmering  light ; 
Slowly  assured  he  was  not  dead  with  fear 

And  pinches,  cautious  peer'd  around  the  knight ; 
He  found  himself  replaced  beneath  the  oak, 
And  heard  with  rising  wrath  the  chuckling  croak. 

CXXII. 

"  Oh  bird  of  birds,  most  monstrous  and  malific, 
Were  these  the  inns  to  which  thou  wert  to  lead ! 

Now  gash'd  with  swords,  now  clawed  by  imps  horrific ; 
Wives — wounds — cramps — pinches  !    Precious  guide 
indeed ! 

Ossa  on  Pelion  piling,  crime  on  crime ; 

Wretch  save  thy  throttle,  and  repent  in  time !" 


246  KING     ARTHUR. 

cxxiii.  .^1^ 

Thus  spoke  the  knight — the  raven  gave  a  grunt,  ^^ 
(That  raven  Uked  not  threats  to  hfe  or  limh !) 

Then  with  due  sense  of  the  unjust  affront, 

Hopp'd  supercilious  forth,  and  summoned  him — 

His  mail  once  more  the  aching  knight  endued, 

Limp'd  to  his  steed,  and  ruefully  pursued. 

CXXTV. 

The  sun  was  high  when  all  the  glorious  sea 

Flash'd  through  the  boughs  that  overhung  the  way. 

And  down  a  path,  as  rough  as  path  could  be. 
The  bird  flew  sullen,  delving  towards  the  bay; 

The  moody  knight  dismounts,  and  leads  with  pain 

The  stumbling  steed,  oft  backing  from  the  rein. 

cxxv. 
One  ray  of  hope  alone  illumed  his  soul, 

"The  bird  will  lead  thee  to  the  ocean  coast," 
The  wizard's  words  had  clearly  mark'd  the  goal ; 

The  goal  once  won — of  course  the  guide  was  lost : 
While  thus  consoled,  its  croak  the  raven  gave, 
Folded  its  wings  and  hopp'd  into  a  cave. 

CXXVI. 

Sir  Gawaine  paused — Sir  Gawaine  drew  his  sword; 

The  bird  vmseen  screamed  loud  for  him  to  follow— 
His  soul  the  knight  committed  to  our  Lord, 

Stepped  on — and  fell  ten  yards  into  a  hollow; 
No  time  had  he  the  ground  thus  gained  to  note. 
Ere  six  strong  hands  laid  gripe  upon  his  throat. 


BOOK  yi.  247 

CXXVII. 

It  was  a  creek,  three  sides  with  rocks  enclosed, 
The  fourth  stretch'd,  opening  on  the  golden  sand; 

Dull  on  the  wave  an  anchor'd  ship  reposed; 
A  boat  with  peaks  of  brass  lay  on  the  strand ; 

And  in  that  creek  caroused  the  grisliest  crew 

Thor  ever  nursed,  or  Rana*  ever  knew. 

CXXVTII. 

But  little  cared  the  knight  for  mortal  foes. 

From  those  strong  hands  he  wrench'd  himself  away, 

Sprang  to  his  feet  and  dealt  so  dour  his  blows, 
Cleft  to  the  chin  a  grim  Berserker  lay, 

A  Fin  fell  next,  and  next  a  giant  Dane — 

^^Ten  thousand  pardons!"  said  the  bland  Gawaine. 

CXXIX. 

But  e'en  in  that  not  democratic  age 

Too  large  majorities  were  stubborn  things. 

Nor  long  could  one  man  strive  against  the  rage 
Of  half  a  hundred  thick-skull'd  ocean  kings — 

Four  felons  crept  between  him  and  the  rocks, 

Lifted  four  clubs  and  fell'd  him  like  an  ox. 

cxxx» 
When  next  the  knight  unclosed  his  dizzy  eyes, 

His  feet  were  fettered  and  his  arms  were  bound — 
Below  the  ocean,  and  above  the  skies ; 

Sails  flapp'd — cords  crackled ;  long  he  gazed  around. 
Still  where  he  gazed,  fierce  eyes  and  naked  swords 
Peer'd  through  the  flapping  sails  and  crackling  cords — 

*  Kan,  or  Rana,  the  malignant  goddess  of  the  sea,  in  Scandinavian  mythology. 


248  KING    ARTHUR. 


CXXXI.  ~^ir' 

A  chief  before  liim  leant  upon  his  club, 

With  hideous  visage  bush'd  with  tawny  hair. 

"  Who  plays  at  bowls  must  count  upon  a  rub," 
Said  the  bruised  Gawaine  with  a  smiling  air ; 

"  Brave  sir,  permit  me  humbly  to  suggest 

You  make  your  gyves  too  tight  across  the  breast." 

CXXXII. 

Grinn'd  the  grim  chief,  vouchsafing  no  reply ; 

The  knight  resumed — "  Your  pleasant  looks  bespeak 
A  mind  as  gracious ; — may  I  ask  you  why 

You  fish  for  Christians  in  King  Arthur's  creek?" 
"  The  kings  of  creeks,"  replied  that  hideous  man, 
"Are  we,  the  Vikings  and  the  sons  of  Ran! 

CXXXIII. 

"Your  beacon  fires  allured  us  to  your  strands 
The  dastard  herdsman  fled  before  our  feet, 

Thee,  Odin's  raven  guided  to  our  hands ; 
Thrice  happy  man,  Yalhalla's  boar  to  eat ! 

The  raven's  choice  suggests  it 's  God's  idea. 

And  marks  thee  out — a  sacrifice  to  Freya !" 

CXXXIV. 

As  spoke  the  Viking,  over  Gawaine's  head 
Circled  the  raven  with  triumphal  caw ; 

Then  o'er  the  cliffs,  still  hoarse  with  glee,  it  fled. 
Thrice  a  deep  breath  the  knight  relieved  did  draw. 

Fair  seem'd  the  voyage — pleasant  seem'd  the  haven ; 

"Blest  saints,"  he  cried,  "I  have  escaped  the  raven!" 

END  OF  VOL.  I. 


>^•. 


"»■ 


KING  ARTHUR. 


BY 


SIR  EDWARD  BULWER  LYTTON,  Bart. 


AUTHOR  OF  THE  NEW  TIMON. 


"  When  Arthur  w^as  King — 
Hearken,  now,  a  marvellous  thing." 

*' LavaiiiOii's  Brut,"  by  Sir  F.  RJadden,  Vol.  i.  p   413. 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 


VOL  II. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

HOGAN  &   THOMPSON. 
1851. 


^l  'ir 


KING   ARTHUR 


BOOK  VII. 


ARGUMENT. 

Arthur  and  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  ;  They  land  on  the  Meteor  Isle ;  Which 
then  sinks  to  the  Halls  below ;  Arthur  beholds  the  Forest  springing 
from  a  single  stem ;  He  tells  his  errand  to  the  Phantom,  and  rejects 
the  fruits  that  it  proffers  him  in  lieu  of  the  sword ;  He  is  conducted  by 
the  Phantom  to  the  entrance  of  the  caves,  through  which  he  must  pass 
alone  ;  He  reaches  the  Coral  Hall  of  the  Three  Kings ;  The  Statue 
crowned  with  thorns ;  the  Asps  and  the  Vulture,  and  the  Diamond 
Sword ;  The  Choice  of  the  Three  Arches  ;  He  turns  from  the  first  and 
second  arch,  and  beholds  himself,  in  the  third,  a  corpse ;  The  sleeping 
King  rises  at  Arthur's  question — '  if  his  death  shall  be  in  vain  V  The 
Vision  of  times  to  be ;  Coeur  de  Lion  and  the  age  of  Chivalry  ;  The 
Tudors  ;  Henry  VII. ;  the  restorer  of  the  line  of  Arthur  and  the  founder 
of  civil  Freedom ;  Henry  VIII.  and  the  Revolution  of  Thought ;  Eliza- 
beth and  the  Age  of  Poetry ;  the  Union  of  Cymrian  and  Saxon,  under 
the  Sway  of  '  Crowned  Liberty  ;'  Arthur  makes  his  choice,  and  attempts, 
but  in  vain,  to  draw  the  Sword  from  the  Rock — the  Statue  with  the 
thorn-wreath  addresses  him  ;  Arthur  called  upon  to  sacrifice  the  Dove ; 
His  reply ;  The  glimpse  of  Heaven ;  The  trance  which  succeeds,  and 
in  which  the  King  is  borne  to  the  sea  shores. 


KING    ARTHUR. 


BOOK  VII. 


1. 

As  when  In  Autumn  nights  and  Arctic  skies, 
An  angel  makes  the  cloud  his  noiseless  car, 

And,  thro'  cgerulean  silence,  silent  flies 

From  antique  Hesper  to  some  dawning  star, 

So  still,  so  sw^ift,  along  the  windless  tides 

Her  vapour-sail  the  Lake's  mute  Lady  guides. 

Along  the  sheen,  along  the  glassy  sheen. 
Amid  the  lull  of  lucent  night  they  go ; 

Till,  in  the  haven  of  an  islet  green. 

Murmuring  thro'  reeds,  the  gentle  waters  flow : 

Shoots  the  dim  pinnace  to  the  gradual  strand. 

And  the  pale  Phantom,  beck'ning,  glides  to  land. 

VOL.  II.  1 


6  KING    ARTHUR. 

III. 

Follow'd  tlie  King — yet  scarcely  toucli'd  the  shore. 
When  slowly,  slowly  sunk  the  meteor-isle, 

Fathom  on  fiithom,  to  the  sparry  floor 
Of  alabaster  shaft  and  porphyr-pile, 

Built  as  by  Nereus  for  his  own  retreat, 

Or  the  Nymph-mother  of  the  silver  feet.* 

IV. 

Far,  thro'  the  crystal  lymph,  the  pillar'd  halls 
Went  lengthening  on  in  vista'd  majesty; 

The  waters  sapp'd  not  the  enchanted  walls, 
Nor  shut  their  roofless  silence  from  the  sky ; 

But  every  beam  that  gilds  this  world  of  ours 

Broke  sparkling  downward  into  diamond  showers. 

V. 

And  the  strange  magic  of  the  Place  bestow'd 
Its  own  strange  life  upon  the  startled  King, 

Round  him,  like  air,  the  subtle  waters  flow'd ; 
As  round  the  Naiad  flows  her  native  spring ; 

Domelike  collapsed  the  azure ; — moonlight  clear 

Fill'd  the  melodious  silvery  atmosphere — 

VI. 

Melodius  with  the  chaunt  of  distant  falls 

Of  sportive  waves,  within  the  waves  at  play. 

And  infant  springs  that  bubble  up  the  halls 
Thro'  sparry  founts,  (on  which  the  broken  ray 

Weaves  its  slight  iris) — hymning  while  they  ris  e 

To  that  smooth  calm  their  restless  life  supplies, 

•  <  The  silver-footed  Thetis.' — Hoher. 


BOOK    YII.  7 

VII. 

Like  secret  thoughts  in  some  still  poet's  soul, 
That  swell  the  deep  while  yearning  to  the  stars : 

But  overhead  a  trembling  shadow  stole, 

A  gloom  that  leaf-like  quiver'd  on  the  spars, 

And  that  quick  shadow,  ever  moving,  fell 

From  a  vast  Tree  with  root  immoveable ; 

VIII. 

In  link'd  arcades,  and  interwoven  bowers 
Swept  the  long  forest  from  that  single  stem ! 

And,  flashing  through  the  foliage,  fruits  or  flowers 
In  jewell'd  clusters  glow'd  with  every  gem 

Golgonda  liideth  from  the  greed  of  kings ; 

Or  Lybian  gryphons  guard  with  drowsy  wings. 

IX. 

Here  blush'd  the  ruby,  warm  as  Charity,* 

There  the  mild  topaz,  wrath-assuaging,  shone 

Radiant  as  mercy; — like  an  angel's  eye. 

Or  a  stray  splendour  from  the  Father's  throne, 

The  sapphire  chaste  a  heavenlier  lustre  gave 

To  that  blue  heaven  reflected  on  the  wave. 

X. 

Never  from  India's  cave,  or  Oman's  sea 

Swart  Afrite  wreathed  for  scornful  Peri's  brow. 

Such  gems  as  wasted  on  that  Wonder-tree, 

Paled  Sheban  treasures  in  each  careless  bough ; 

And  every  bough  the  gilding  wavelet  heaves. 

Quivers  to  music  with  the  quivering  leaves. 

•  In  heraldic  mysteries,  the  ruby  is  the  emblem  of  charity — the  topaz  assuages 
choler  and  frenzy — the  sapphire  preserves  chastity,  &c.  See  Stlvanus  Morgan's 
Sphere  of  Gentry. 


8  KIXG     ARTHUR. 

XI. 

Then  first  the  Sovereign  Lady  of  tlie  deep 

Spoke ;  and  the  waves  and  whispering  leaves  were  still, 

"  Ever  I  rise  before  the  eyes  that  w^eep 

When,  born  from  sorrow,  Wisdom  makes  the  will : 

But  few  behold  the  shadow  thro'  the  dark 

And  few  will  dare  the  venture  of  the  bark. 

XII. 

'^  And  now  amid  the  Cuthites'  temple  halls 
O'er  which  the  waters  undestroying  flow, 

Heark'ning  the  mysterious  hymned  from  silver  falls 
Or  from  the  sj^rings  that,  gushing  up  below, 

Gleam  to  the  surface,  whence  to  heaven  updrawn, 

They  form  the  clouds  that  harbinger  of  dawn, — 

XIII. 

"  Say  what  the  treasures  which  my  deeps  enfold 
That  thou  wouldst  bear  to  the  terrestrial  day  ?" 

Then  Arthur  answered — and  his  quest  he  told, 
The  prophet  mission  which  his  steps  obey — 

"  Here  springs  the  forest  from  the  single  stem : 

I  seek  the  falchion  welded  from  the  gem !" 

XIV. 

'^  Pause,"  said  the  Phantom,  "  and  survey  the  tree ! 

More  worth  one  fruit  that  weighs  a  branchlet  down, 
Than  all  which  mortals  in  the  sword  can  see. 

Thou  ask'st  the  falchion  to  defend  a  crown — 
But  seize  the  fruit,  and  to  thy  grasp  decreed 
More  realms  than  Ormuzd  lavish'd  on  the  Mede ; 


BOOK    VII.  9 

XV. 

''  Than  great  Darius  left  his  doomed  son, 
From  Scythian  wastes  to  Abyssinian  caves ; 

From  Nimrod's  tomb  in  silenced  Babylon 
To  Argive  islands  fretting  Asian  waves ; 

Than  chang'd  to  sceptres  the  rude  Lictor-rods, 

And  placed  the  worm  call'd  Cassar  with  the  gods ! 

XVI. 

"  Pause — take  thy  choice — each  gem  a  host  can  buy, 
Link  race  on  race  to  Conquest's  rushing  car; 

No  ghastly  Genius  here  thou  need'st  defy, 
The  fruits  un2:uarded,  and  the  fiends  afar — 

But  dark  the  perils  that  surround  the  Sword, 

And  slight  its  worth — ambitious  if  its  Lord ; 

XVII. 

"  Powerless  to  win,  though  potent  to  defend, 
Its  blade  will  shiver  in  a  conqueror's  clasp ; 

A  weapon  meeter  for  the  herdsman's  end, 

When  ploughshares  turn  to  falchions  in  his  grasp, 

Some  churl  w^ho  seeks  to  guard  his  humble  hearth — 

A  Hero's  soul  should  hunger  for  the  Earth !" 

XVIII. 

"  Spirit  or  Sorceress," — said  the  frowning  King, 
"  Fame  like  the  Sun  illumes  an  Universe ; 

But  life  and  joy  both  Fame  and  Sun  should  bring ; 
And  God  ordains  no  glory  for  a  curse. 

What  need  of  falchions  save  to  guard  a  land  ? 

'T  is  the  Churl's  cause  that  nerves  the  Hero's  hand. 


10  KING    ARTHUR. 

^- 

XIX. 

"  Not  mine  the  crowns  the  Persian  lost  or  won, 
Tiaras  glittering  over  kneeling  slaves ; 

Mine  be  the  sword  that  freed  at  Marathon, 
The  unborn  races  by  the  Father-graves — 

Or  stay'd  the  Orient  in  the  Spartan  pass, 

And  carved  on  Time,  thy  name,  Leonidas  1" 

XX. 

The  Sybil  of  the  Sources  of  the  Deep 

Heard  nor  replied,  but  indistinct  and  w^an 

Went  as  a  Dream  that  thro'  the  w^orlds  of  Sleep 
Leads  the  charm'd  soul  of  labour-wearied  man ; 

And  even  as  man  and  dream,  so,  side  by  side, 

Glideth  the  mortal  with  the  gliding  guide. 

XXI. 

Glade  after  glade,  beneath  that  forest  tree 

They  pass, — till  sudden,  looms  amid  the  Avaves, 

A  dismal  rock,  hugely  and  heavily, 

With  crags  distorted  vaulting  horrent  caves ; 

A  single  moonbeam  thro'  tlie  hollow  creeps : 

Glides  with  the  beam  the  Lady  of  the  deeps. 

XXII. 

Then  Arthur  felt  the  dove  that  at  his  breast 
Lay  nestling  warm — stir  up  and  quivering, 

Ilis  soothing  hand  the  cris23ed  plumes  carest ; 
Slow  wxnt  they  on,  the  Lady  and  the  King : 

And,  ever  as  they  went,  before  their  way 

O'er  prison'd  waters  lengthening  stretched  the  ray. 


BOOK    YII.  11 

XXIII. 

Now  the  black  jaws  as  of  a  hell  they  gain ; 

Pauses  the  Lake's  pale  Hecate.     "  Lo,"  she  said, 
"  Within,  the  Genii  thou  invadest  reign.  '^ 

Alone  thy  feet  the  threshold  floors  must  tread — 
No  aid  from  Powers  not  human  canst  thou  win 
Lonely  the  man  must  dare  the  Shapes  within." 

XXIV. 

She  spoke  to  vanish — but  the  single  ray 

Shot  from  the  unseen  moon,  still  palely  breaketh 
The  awe  that  rests  with  midnight  on  the  way ; 

Faithful  as  Hope  when  Wisdom's  self  forsaketh — 
The  buoyant  beam  the  lonely  man  pursued — 
And,  feeling  God,  he  felt  not  Solitude. 

XXV. 

No  fiend  obscene,  no  giant  spectre  grim, 

(Born  or  of  Runic  or  Arabian  Song,) 
Affronts  the  progress — thro'  the  gallery  dim, 

Into  the  sudden  light  which  flames  along 
The  waves,  and  dyes  the  stillness  of  their  flood 
To  one  red  horror  like  a  lake  of  blood. 

XXVI. 

And  now,  he  enters,  with  that  lurid  tide, 

Where  time-long  corals  shape  a  mighty  hall ; 

Three  curtain'd  arches  on  the  dexter  side. 
And  on  the  floors  a  ruby  pedestal. 

On  which  with  marble  lips,  that  life-like  smiled, 

Stood  the  fair  Statue  of  a  crowned  Child : 


12  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXVII. 

It  smiled,  and  yet  its  crown  was  wreathed  of  thorns^ 
And  round  its  limbs  coil'd  foul  the  viper's  brood ; 

Near  to  that  Child  a  rough  crag,  deluge-torn, 

Jagg'd,  with  sharp  shadow  abrupt,  the  luminous  flood ; 

And  a  huge  Vulture  from  the  summit,  there, 

"VVatch'd,  with  dull  hunger  in  its  glassy  stare. 

XXVIII. 

Below  the  Vulture,  in  the  rock  ensheathed, 

Shone  out  the  hilt-beam  of  the  diamond  glaive ; 

And  all  the  hall  one  hue  of  crimson  wreathed, 
And  all  the  galleries  vista'd  thro'  the  wave ; 

As  flush'd  the  coral  fathom-deep  below, 

Lit  into  glory  from  the  ruby's  glow, 

XXIX* 

And  on  three  thrones  there  sate  three  giant  forms, 
Rigid  the  first,  as  Death ; — with  lightless  eyes. 

And  brows  as  hush'd  as  deserts,  w  hen  the  storms 
Lock  the  tornado  in  the  Nubian  skies ; — 

Dead  on  dead  knees  the  large  hands  nerveless  rest, 

And  dead  the  front  droops  heavy  on  the  breast. 

XXX. 

The  second  shape,  with  bright  and  kindling  eye, 
And  aspect  haughty  with  triumphant  life. 

Like  a  young  Titan  reared  its  crest  on  high, 

Crown'd  as  for  sway  and  harness'd  as  for  strife ; 

But  o'er  one  half  his  image  there  was  cast, 

A  shadow  from  the  throne  where  sate  the  last. 


BOOK    YII.  13 

XXXI. 

And  this,  the  third  and  Last,  seem'd  in  that  sleep 
Which  neighbours  waking  in  a  summer  s  dawn, 

When  dreams,  reLaxing,  scarce  their  captive  keep : 
Half  o'er  his  face  a  veil  transparent  drawn, 

Stirr'd  with  quick  sighs  unquiet  and  disturb'd. 

Which  told  the  impatient  soul  the  slumber  curb'd. 

XXXII. 

Thrill'd,  but  undaunted,  on  the  Adventurer  strode, 
Then  spoke  the  youthful  Genius  with  the  crown 

And  armour  :  "  Hail  to  our  august  abode  ! 
Guardless  we  greet  the  seeker  of  Renown. 

In  our  least  terror  cravens  Death  behold. 

But  vainly  frown  our  direst  for  the  bold." 

xxxiri. 
'^  And  who  are  ye  ?"  the  wondering  King  replied, 

"  On  whose  large  aspects  reigns  the  awe  sublime 
Of  fabled  judges,  that  o'er  souls  preside 

In  Rhadamanthian  Halls  ?"     The  Lords  of  Time, 
Answered  the  Giant,  "  And  our  realms  are  three. 
The  What  has  been",  what  is,  and  what  shall  be  ! 

XX  XIV. 

^^  But  while  we  speak  my  brother's  shadow  creeps 

Over  the  life  blood  that  it  freezes  fast ; 
Haste,  while  the  king  that  shall  discrown  me  sleeps. 

Nor  lose  the  Present — lo,  how  dead  the  Past ! 
Accept  the  trials,  Prince  beloved  by  Heaven, 
To  the  deep  heart — -(that  nobler  reason),  given. 

VOL.  II.  2 


14  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXXV. 

"  Thou  hast  rejected  m  the  Cuthites'  halls 

The  fruits  that  flush  Ambition's  dazzling  tree, 

The  Conqueror's  lust  of  blood-stained  coronals ; — 
Again  thine  ordeal  in  thy  judgment  be  ! 

Nor  here  shall  empire  need  the  arm  of  crime — 

But  Fate  achieve  the  lot^  thou  ask'st  from  Time. 

XXXVT. 

''  Behold  the  three-fold  Future  at  thy  choice, 

Choose  right,  and  win  from  Fame  the  master  spell." 

Then  the  concealing  veils,  as  ceased  the  voice. 
From  the  three  arches  with  a  clangor  fell, 

And  clear  as  scenes  with  Thespian  wonders  rife 

Gave  to  his  view  the  Lemur-shapes  of  life. 

XXXVII. 

Lo  the  fair  stream  amidst  that  pleasant  vale. 
Wherein  his  youth  held  careless  holiday ; 

The  stream  is  blithe  with  many  a  silken  sail, 
The  vale  with  many  a  proud  pavilion  gay. 

And  in  the  centre  of  the  rosy  ring, 

Propp'd  on  his  arm,  reclines  himself,  the  King. 

XXXVIII. 

AII5  all  the  same  as  when  his  golden  prime 

Lay  in  the  lap  of  life's  soft  Arcady ; 
When  the  light  love  beheld  no  foe  but  Time, 

When  but  from  Pleasure  heaved  the  prophet  sigh. 
And  Luxury's  prayer  was  as  'a  Summer  day, 
Mid  blooms  a.nd  sweets  to  wear  the  hours  away.' 


BOOK  yii.  15 

XXXIX. 

"  Behold,"  the  Genius  said,  "  is  that  thy  choice 
As  once  it  was  ?"  "  Nay,  I  have  wept  since  then," 

Answered  the  mortal  with  a  mournful  voice, 
"  When  the  dews  fall,  the  stars  arise  for  men !" 

So  turn'd  he  to  the  second  arch  to  see 

The  imperial  peace  of  tranquil  majesty ; — 

XL. 

The  kingly  throne,  himself  the  dazzling  king ; 

Bright  arms,  and  jewelled  vests,  and  purple  stoles ; 
While  silver  winds,  from  many  a  music-string, 

Rippled  the  wave  of  glittering  banderolls  : 
From  mitred  priests  and  ermined  barons,  clear 
Came  the  loud  praise  which  monarchs  love  to  hear !     ?' 

XLI. 

"  Doth  this  content  thee  ?"  "  Ay,"  the  Prince  replied, 
And  towered  erect,  with  empire  on  his  brow ; 

"Ay,  here  at  once  a  Monarch  may  decide, 
Be  but  the  substance  worthy  of  the  show ! 

Courts  are  not  states — let  me  see  men  ! — behind 

Where  stands  the  People  ? — Genius,  lift  the  blind  !" 

XLII. 

Slow  fades  the  pageant,  and  the  Phantom  stage 
As  slowly  fiird  with  squallid,  ghastly  forms ; 

Here,  over  fireless  hea^rths  cowered  shivering  Age, 
And  blew  with  feeble  breath  dead  embers ; — storms 

Hung  in  the  icy  welkin ;  and  the  bare 

Earth  lay  forlorn  in  Winter's  charnel  air. 


16  KING    ARTHUR. 

XLIII. 

And  Youth  all  labour-bow'd,  with  withering  look, 
Knelt  by  a  rushing  stream  whose  waves  were  gold, 

And  sought  with  lean  strong  hands  to  grasp  the  brook, 
And  clutch  the  glitter  lapsing  from  the  hold, 

Till  with  mad  laugh  it  ceased,  and,  tott'ring  down 

Fell,  and  on  frowning  skies,  scowl'd  back  the  frown. 

XLIV. 

No  careless  Childhood  laughed  disportingly, 

But  dwarf 'd,  pale  mandrakes  with  a  century's  gloom 

On  infant  brows,  beneath  a  Poison-tree 

With  skeleton  fingers  plied  a  ghastly  loom, 

Mocking  in  cynic  jests  life's  gravest  things. 

They  wove  gay  King-robes,  muttering  "What  are  Kings?" 

XLV. 

And  thro'  that  dreary  Hades  to  and  fro, 
Stalk'd  all  unheeded  the  Tartarean  Guests ; 

Grim  discontent  that  loathes  the  Gods,  and  Woe 
Clasping  dead  infants  to  her  milkless  breasts ; 

And  madding  Hate,  and  Force  with  iron  heel. 

And  voiceless  Vengeance  sharp'ning  secret  steel. 

XLVI. 

And,  hand  in  hand,  a  Gorgon-visaged  Pair, 
Envy  and  Famine,  halt  with  livid  smile, 

Listening  the  Demon-Orator  Despair, 

That,  with  a  giozing  and  malignant  guile, 

Seems  sent  the  gates  of  Paradise  to  ope, 

And  lures  to  Hell  by  simulating  Ho]3e. 


BOOK    YII.  17 

XLVII. 

"Can  such  things  be  below  and  God  above  ? 

Faltered  the  King; — Replied  the  Genius — "'Nay, 
This  is  the  state  that  Sages  most  approve ; 

This  is  Man  civilized ! — the  perfect  sway 
Of  Merchant  Kings ; — the  ripeness  of  the  Art 
Which  cheajDens  men — the  Elysium  of  the  Mart. 

XLVIII. 

"  But  what  to  thee  if  Pomp  hath  its  extremes  ? 

Not  thine  the  shadow — Go,  enjoy  the  light ! 
Begirt  by  guards,  shut  danger  from  thy  dreams ; 

That  serves  thy  grandeur  which  appals  thy  sight ; 
From  its  own  entrails  if  the  worm  supply 
The  silken  purple — let  it  weave  and  die  !" 

XLIX. 

"Demon — 0  rather,"  cried  the  Poet-king, 
"  Let  me  all  lonely  on  the  heav'n-kist  hill. 

Rove  with  the  hunter — be  my  drink  the  spring, 
The  root  my  banquet,  and  the  night-wind  shrill 

Howl  o'er  my  couch  with  the  wild  fox — than  know 

One  pomp  that  mocks  that  Lazar-house  of  woe. 

L. 

"  Thou  saidst,  '  Give  dues  to  Csesar,'— Lord  !  secure 
The  mightier  tribute  Csesars  owe  to  men ! 

Thou  who"  hast  oped  God's  kingdom  to  the  Poor, 
Reveal  Humanity  to  Kings  ! — again 

Descend,  Messiah ! — and  to  earth  make  kno^\T.i 

How  Christ  had  rei^n'd  if  on  the  Caesar's  throne !" 


18  KING    ARTHUR. 

LI. 

So,  with  indignant  tears  in  manly  eyes 
Turned  the  great  Archetype  of  Chiyahy; 

Lo  the  third  arch  ai  d  last ! — In  moonlight  rise 
The  Cjmrian  rocks  dark-shining  from  the  sea, 

And  all  those  rocks,  some  patriot  war,  forgone, 

Hallows  with  grassy  mound  and  starlit  stone. 

LIT. 

And  wdiere  the  softest  falls  the  loying  light. 
He  sees  himself  stretch'd  lifeless  on  the  sward, 

And  by  the  corpse,  with  sacred  robes  of  white 
Leans  on  his  iyory  harp  a  lonely  Bard ; 

Yea,  to  the  Dead  the  sole  still  ¥*^atchers  giyen 

Are  the  Fame-Singer  and  the  Hosts  of  Heayen. 

LIII. 

But  on  the  kingly  front  the  kingly  crown 

Rests; — the  pale  right  hand  grasps  the  diamond  glaiye; 

The  brow,  on  which  ey'n  strife  hath  left  no  frown, 
Calm  in  the  halo  Glory  giyes  the  Braye. 

"  Mortal,  is  this  thy  choice  ?"  the  Genius  cried. 

"Here  Death;  there  Pleasure;  and  there  Pomp! — decide!" 

LIV. 

"  Death,"  answer'd  Arthur,  "  is  nor  good  nor  ill 
Save  in  the  ends  for  which  men  die — and  Death 

Can  oft  achieye  what  Life  may  not  fulfil, 

And  kindle  earth  with  Valour's  dying  breath ; 

But  oh,  one  answer  to  one  terror  deign. 

My  land — my  people ! — is  that  death  in  yain  ?" 


BOOK    VII.  19 

LV. 

Mute  droop'd  the  Genius,  but  the  unquiet  form 
Dreaming  beside  its  brother  king,  arose, 

Tho'  dreaming  still ;'''  As  leaps  the  sudden  storm 
On  sands  Arabian,  as  with  spasms  and  throes 

Bursts  the  Fire-mount  by  soft  Parthenope, 

Rose  the  veil'd  Genius  of  the  Thino:s  to  be  1 


LVI. 

Shook  all  the  hollow  caves  : — wit]i  tortur'd  groan, 
Shook  to  their  roots  in  the  far  core  of  hell ; 

Deep  howFd  to  deep  the  monumental  throne 
Of  the  dead  giant  rock'd; — each  coral  cell 

Flash'd  quivering  billowlike.     Unshaken  smiled. 

From  the  calm  ruby  base  the  thorn-crown'd  Child. 

LVII. 

The  Genius  rose ;  and  thro'  the  phantom  arch 
Glided  the  Shadows  of  His  own  pale  dreams ; 

The  mortal  saw  the  long  procession  march 
Beside  that  ima2:e  which  his  lemur  seems : 

An  armed  King — three  lions  on  his  shiekhj- — 

First  by  the  bard-watch'd  Shadow  paused  and  kneel' d. 

*  The  Present  shows  that  which  appears  submitted  to  our  choice  ;  the  Future 
that  which  positively  shall  be! 

■\  Richard  Cocur  de  Lion  ; — poetically  speaking,  the  mythic  Arthur  was  the  fa- 
ther of  the  age  of  adventure  and  knighthood — and  the  legends  respecting  him  reigned 
with  full  influence,  in  the  period  which  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion,  here  (generally  and 
without  strict  prosaic  regard  to  chronology)  represents;  from  the  lay  of  the  Trouba- 
dour and  the  song  of  the  Saracen — to  the  final  concentration  of  chivalric  romance  in 
the  muse  of  Ariosto. 


20  KING    ARTHUR. 

LVIIT. 

Kneel'd,  there,  his  tram — upon  each  mailed  breast 
A  red  coss  stamp'd ;  and  deep  as  from  a  sea 

With  all  its  waves — full  voices  murmur  d. — "  Rest 
Ever  unhuried,  Sire  of  chivalry  ! 

Ever  by  Minstrel  watch'd,  and  Knight  ador'd. 

King  of  the  halo-brow,  and  diamond  sword !" 

LIX. 

Then,  as  from  all  the  courts  of  all  the  earth. 

The  reverent  pilgrims,  countless,  clustering  came ; 

They  whom  the  seas  of  fabled  Sirens  girth, 
Or  Baltic  freezing  in  the  Boreal  flame ; 

Or  they,  who  watch  the  Star  of  Bethlem  quiver 

By  Carmel's  Olive  mount,  and  Judah's  river. 

LX. 

From  violet  Provence  comes  the  Troubadour ; 

Ferrara  sends  her  clarion-sounding  son ; 
Comes  from  Iberian  halls  the  turban'd  Moor 

With  cymbals  chiming  to  the  clarion ; 
And,  with  large  stride,  amid  the  gaudier  throng, 
Stalks  the  vast  Scald  of  Scandinavian  song. 

Lxr. 
Pass'd  he  who  bore  the  lions  and  the  cross, 

And  all  that  gorgeous  pageant  left  the  space 
Void  as  a  heart  that  mourns  the  golden  loss 

Of  young  illusions  beautiful.     A  Race 
Sedate,  supplants  upon  the  changeful  stage, 
Light's  early  Sires, — the  Song- World's  hero-age. 


BOOK   yiL  21 

Lxrr. 

Slow  come  the  Shapes  from  out  the  dim  Obscure. 

A  noon-like  quiet  circles  swarming  bays, 
Seas  gleam  with  sails,  and  wall-less  towns  secure, 

Rise  from  the  donjon  sites  of  antique  days ; 
Lo,  the  calm  Sovereign  of  that  sober  reign ! 
Unarm'd — with  burghers  in  his  pompless  train. 


Lxiir. 

And  by  the  corpse  of  Arthur  kneels  that  king, 
And  murmurs,  "  Father  of  the  Tudor,*  hail ! 

To  thee  nor  bays,  nor  myrtle  wreath  I  bring ; 
But  in  thy  Son,  the  Dragon-born  prevail. 

And  in  my  rule  Right  first  deposes  Wrong ; 

And  first  the  Weak  undaunted  face  the  Strong." 


LXIV. 

He  pass'd — Another,  with  a  Nero's  frown 
Shading  the  quick  light  of  impatient  eyes ; 

Strides  on — and  casts  his  sceptre,  clattering,  down. 
And  from  the  sceptre  rushingly  arise 

Fierce  sparks ;  along  the  heath  they  hissing  run. 

And  the  dull  earth  glows  lurid  as  the  sun. 


*  It  is  needless  to  say  that  in  Henry  VII.  the  direct  line  of  the  British  kings, 
through  their  most  renowned  heroes,  is  restored  to  the  throne  of  England.  It  is 
here  symbolically  intimated,  that  the  date  in  which  the  Fathtr-race  of  the  Land 
thus  regains  the  Sovereign  rights,  is  also  (whatever  the  mere  personal  faults  of  the 
Tudor  kings)  the  date  destined  for  the  first  recognition  of  rights  more  important ; — 
tlie  dawn  of  a  new  era  for  the  liberties  of  men. 


22  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXV. 

And  there  is  heard  afar  the  hollow  crash 

Of  ruin ; — wind-borne,  on  the  flames  are  driven  : 

But  where,  round  tailing  shrines,  the}^  coil  and  Hash, 
A  seraph's  hand  extends  a  scroll  from  heaven, 

And  the  rude  shape  cries  loud,  "  Behold,  ye  blind, 

I  who  have  trampled  Men^  have  freed  the  Mind !" 

Lxvr. 

So  laughing  grim,  pass'd  the  Destroyer  on ; 

And,  after  two  pale  shadows,  to  the  sound 
Of  lutes  more  musical  than  Helicon, 

A  manlike  woman  march'd  : — The  graves  around 
Yawn'd,  and  the  ghosts  of  Knighthood,  more  serene 
In  death, — arose^  and  smiled  upon  the  Queen.''" 

LXVII. 

With  her,  (at  either  hand)  two  starry  forms 
Glide — th:ai  herself  more  royal — and  the  glow 

Of  their  own  lustre,  each  pale  phantom  warms 
Into  the  lovely  life  the  angels  know. 

And  as  they  pass,  each  Fairy  leaves  its  cell, 

And  Gloriana  calls  on  Ariel  ! 

LXVIII. 

Yet  she,  unconscious  as  the  crescent  queen 

Of  orbs  whose  brightness  makes  her  image  bright, 

Ilaught  and  imperious,  thro'  the  borrowed  sheen, 
Claims  to  herself  the  sovereignty  of  light ; 

And  is  herself  so  stately  to  survey. 

That  orbs  which  lend,  but  seem  to  steal  the  ray. 

•  The  reader  will  be  at  no  loss  to  recognise  the  eflects  of  the  Heroagc,  and  that 


BOOK    YII.  '  23 


LXIX. 

Elf-land  divine,  and  Chivalry  sublime, 

Seem  there  to  hold  their  last  high  jubilee — 

One  glorious  Sahhat  of  enchanted  Time, 

Ere  the  dull  spell  seals  the  sweet  glamourj. 

And  all  those  wonder-shapes  in  subject  ring 

Kneel  where  the  Bard  still  sits  beside  the  King. 

LXX. 

Slow  falls  a  mist,  far  booms  a  labouring  wind, 
As  into  night  reluctant  fades  the  Dream ; 

And  lo,  the  smouldering  embers  left  behind 

From  the  old  sceptre-flame,  wdth  blood-red  beam, 

Kindle  afresh,  and  the  thick  smoke-reeks  go 

Heavily  up  from  marching  fires  below. 

LXXI. 

Hark  !  thro'  sulphureous  cloud  the  jarring  bray 
Of  trumpet-clangours — the  strong  shock  of  steel ; 

And  fitful  flashes  light  the  fierce  array 
Of  faces  gloomy  with  the  calm  of  zeal. 

Or  knightlier  forms,  on  wheeling  chargers  borne ) 

Gay  in  despair,  and  meeting  zeal  with  scorn. 

LXXII. 

Forth  from  the  throng  came  a  majestic  Woe, 

That  wore  the  shape  of  man — "And  I" — It  said, 

"  I  am  thy  Son ;  and  if  the  Fates  bestow 
Blood  on  my  soul  and  ashes  on  my  head ; 

Time's  is  the  guilt,  tho'  mine  the  misery — 

This  teach  me.  Father — to  forgive  and  die  !" 

spirit  of  Romance  embodied  by  the  legendary  Arthur,  upon  whatever  was  most 
gallant  and  most  poetic  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth. 


24  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXIII. 

But  here  stern  voices  clrown'd  the  mournful  word, 
Crying — "  Men's  freedom  is  the  heritage 

Left  by  the  Hero  of  the  Diamond  Sword," 

And  others  answered — "  Nay,  the  knightly  age 

Leaves  as  its  heirloom,  knighthood,  and  that  high 

Life  in  sublimer  life  calFd  loyalty."* 

LXXIV. 

Then,  thro'  the  hurtling  clamour  came  a  fair 
Shape  like  a  s worded  seraph — sweet  and  grave ; 

And  when  the  war  heaved  distant  down  the  air 
And  died  as  dies  a  whirlwind  on  the  wave, 

By  the  two  forms  upon  the  storry  hill, 

Stood  the  Arch  Beautiful,  auaust  and  still. 

LXXV. 

And  thus  it  spoke — "  I  too  will  hail  thee,  ^  Sire,' 
Type  of  the  Hero-age ! — thy  sons  are  not 

On  the  earth's  thrones.     They  who,  with  stately  lyre. 
Make  kingly  thoughts  immortal,  and  the  lot 

Of  the  hard  life  divine  with  visitings 

Of  the  far  angels — are  thy  race  of  Kings. 

•  The  Stuarts,  like  the  Tudors,  were  descended  from  the  Welch  kings;  but  the 
latent  meaning  of  the  text  is,  that  whatever  most  redeemed  the  faults  on  either  side 
in  the  great  Civil  Wars,  and  animated,  on  the  one,  such  souls  as  Digby  and  Falk- 
land, on  the  other,  such  as  Hampden  and  Vane,  may  be  traced  to  those  ennobling 
sentiments  which  are  engendered  by  the  early  romance  and  poetry  of  a  nation.  It 
is  only  from  the  traditions  of  a  Hero-age  that  true  heroism  enters  into  the  struggles 
for  even  practical  ends,  and  gives  the  sentiment  of  grandeur,  whether  to  freedom  or 
loyalty.  The  hardest  man  who  never  read  a  poem,  nor  listened  to  a  legend,  can- 
not say  what  he  would  have  been  if  the  poet  had  never  coloured,  and  the  legend 
never  exalted,  that  Prose  of  Life  to  which  his  scope  is  confined.  This  is  designed 
to  be  conveyed  in  words  ascribed  below  to  Milton,  who  himself  united  all  the  ro- 
mance of  the  Cavalier  with  all  the  zeal  of  the  Kepublican. 


BOOK    VII.  25 

LXXVI. 

"All  that  ennobles  strife  in  either  cause, 

And,  rendering  service  stately,  freedom  wise. 

Knits  to  the  throne  of  God  our  human  laws — 
Doth  heir  earth's  humblest  son  with  royalties 

Born  from  the  Hero  of  the  Diamond  Sword, 

"VYatcli'd  by  the  Bard,  and  by  the  Brave  adored." 

LXXVII. 

Then  the  Bard,  seated  by  the  hallo'd  dead. 

Lifts  his  sad  eyes — and  mumurs,  "  Sing  of  Him !" 

Doubtful  the  stranger  bows  his  lofty  head. 
When  down  descend  his  kindred  Seraphim ; 

Borne  on  their  wings  he  soars  from  human  sight, 

And  Heaven  regains  the  Habitant  of  Light. 

LXXVIII. 

Again,  and  once  again — from  many  a  pale 

And  swift  succeeding,  dim-distinguished,  crowd, 

Swells  slow  the  pausing  pageant.     Mount  and  vale 
Mingle  in  gentle  daylight,  wdth  one  cloud 

On  the  far  welkin,  which  the  iris  hues 

Steals  from  its  gloom  with  rays  that  interfuse. 

LXXIX. 

Mild,  like  all  strength,  sits  Crowned  Liberty, 
Wearing  the  aspect  of  a  youthful  Queen : 

And  far  outstretch'd  along  the  unmeasured  sea 
Rests  the  vast  shadow  of  her  throne ;  serene 

From  the  dumb  icebergs  to  the  fiery  zone. 

Rests  the  vast  shadow  of  that  guardian  throne. 


26  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXX. 

And  round  lier  group  the  Cjmrian's  changeless  race 
Blent  with  the  Saxon,  brother-like;  and  both 

Saxon  and  Cymrian  from  that  sovereign  trace 

Their  hero  line  ; — sweet  flower  of  age-long  growth ; 

The  single  blossom  on  the  twofold  stem ; — 

Arthur's  ^vhite  plume  crests  Cerdic's  diadem. 

LXXXI. 

Yet  the  same  harp  that  Taliessin  strung 

Delights  the  sons  whose  sires  the  chords  delighted ; 

Still  the  old  music  of  the  mountain  tongue 
Tells  of  a  race  not  conquered  but  united ; 

That,  losing  nought,  wins  all  the  Saxon  won, 

And  shares  the  realm  ^  where  never  sets  the  sun.' 

LXXXII. 

Afar  is  heard  the  Ml  of  headlong  thrones, 

But  from  that  throne  as  calm  the  shadow  falls ; 

And  where  Oppression  threats  and  Sorrow  groans 
Justice  sits  listening  in  her  gateless  halls, 

And  ev'n,  if  powerless,  still  intent,  to  cure. 

Whispers  to  Truth,  "  Truths  conquer  that  endure." 

LXXXIII. 

Yet  still  on  that  horizon  hangs  the  cloud. 

And  the  cloud  chains  the  Cymrian's  anxious  eye ; 

"  Alas,"  he  murmured,  "  that  one  mist  should  shroud  !" 
Perchance  from  sorrow,  that  benignant  sky !" 

But  while  lie  sigh'd  the  Vision  vanished, 

And  left  once  more  the  lone  Bard  hy  the  dead. 


BOOK    VII.  27 

LXXXIV. 

"Beliold  tlie  close  of  thirteen  hundred  years; 

Lo  !  Cymri's  Daughter  on  the  Saxon's  throne  ! 
Free  as  their  air  thy  Gj^mrian  mountaineers, 

And  in  the  heavens  one  rainbow  cloud  alone, 
Which  shall  not  pass,  until,  the  cycle  o'er, 
The  soul  of  Arthur  comes  to  earth  once  more. 

LXXXV. 

"  Dost  thou  choose  Death  ?"  the  giant  Dreamer  said. 

"  Ay,  for  in  death  I  seize  the  life  of  fame. 
And  link  the  eternal  millions  with  the  dead," 

Replied  the  King — and  to  the  sw^ord  he  came 
Large-striding ; — grasp'd  the  hilt ; — f he  charmed  brand 
Clove  to  the  rock,  and  stirr'd  not  to  his  hand. 

LXXXVI. 

The  Dreaming  Genius  has  his  throne  resum'd ; 

Sit  the  Great  Three  with  Silence  for  their  reign, 
Awful  as  earliest  Theban  kings  entomb'd. 

Or  idols  granite-hewn  in  Indian  fane ; 
When  lo,  the  dove  flew  forth,  and  circling  round, 
Dropp'd  on  the  thorn-wreath  which  the  Statue  crown'd. 

Lxxxvir. 
Rose  then  the  Vulture  with  its  carnage-shriek. 

Up  coil'd  the  darting  Asps  ;  the  bird  above  ; 
Below  the  reptiles ; — poison-fang  and  beak. 

Nearer  and  nearer  gathered  round  the  dove ; 
When  with  strange  life  the  marble  Image  stirr'd. 
And  sudden  pause  the  Asps — and  rests  the  Bird. 


28  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXXVIII. 

"  Mortal,"  the  Ima,ge  murmured,  "  I  am  Pie, 

Whose  voice  alone  the  'enchanted  sword  unsheathes, 

Mightier  than  yonder  Shapes — eternally 

Throned  upon  light,  tho'  crown'd  with  thorny  wreaths ; 

Changeless  amid  the  Halls  of  Time ; — my  name 

In  heaven  is  Youth,  and  on  the  earth  is  Fame. 

LXXXIX. 

"  All  altars  need  their  sacrifice  ;  and  mine 

Asks  every  bloom  in  which  thy  heart  delighted. 

Thorns  are  my  garlands — wouldst  thou  serve  the  shrine, 
Drear  is  the  faith  to  which  thy  vows  are  plighted. 

The  Asp  shall  twine, — the  Vulture  watch  the  prey, 

And  Horror  rend  thee,  let  but  Hope  give  way. 

xc. 

'^  Wilt  thou  the  falchion  with  the  thorns  it  brino's  ?" 
"  Yea — for  the  thorn- wreath  hath  not  dimm'd  thy 
smile." 

"  Lo,  thy  first  offering  to  the  Vulture's  wings. 

And  the  Asp's  fangs !" — the  cold  lips  answered,  while 

Nearer,  and  nearer  the  devourers  came, 

Where  the  dove  resting  hid  the  thorns  of  Fame. 

xci. 
And  all  the  memories  of  that  faithful  guide, 

The  sweet  companion  of  unfriended  ways, 
When  danger  threatened,  ever  at  his  side, 

And  ever  in  the  grief  of  later  days. 
Soothing  his  heart  with  its  mj^sterious  love, 
Till  Ogle's  soul  seem'd  hovering  in  the  dove,- 


<) 


BOOK  yii.  29 

XCII. 

All  cried  aloud  in  Arthur,  and  he  sjDrang 

And  sudden  from  the  slaughter  snatch'd  the  prey, 

"  What !"  said  the  Image,  "  can  a  moment's  pang 
To  the  poor  worthless  favourite  of  a  day 

Appal  the  soul  that  yearns  for  ends  sublime. 

And  sighs  for  empire  o'er  the  worlds  of  Time  ? 

XCIII. 

"  Wilt  thou  resign  the  guerdon  of  the  sword  ? 

Wilt  thou  forego  the  freedom  of  thy  land  ? 
Not  one  slight  offering  will  thy  heart  accord  ? 

The  hero's  prize  is  for  the  martyr's  hand." 
Safe  on  his  breast  the  King  replaced  the  guide, 
Raised  his  majestic  front,  and  thus  replied : 

xciv. 

'•  For  Fame  and  Cymri,  what  is  mine  I  give. 

Life  ! — and  brave  death  prefer  to  ease  and  power  -, 

But  not  for  Fame  or  Cymri  would  I  live 

Soil'd  by  the  stain  of  one  dishonoured  hour; 

x\nd  man's  great  cause  was  ne'er  triumphant  made, 

By  man's  worst  meanness — Trust  for  gain  betray'd. 

xcv. 

"  Let  then  the  rock  the  sword  for  ever  sheathe, 
All  blades  are  charmed  in  the  Patriot's  grasp !" 

Lie  spoke,  and  lo !  the  Statue's  thorny  wreath 
Bloomed  into  roses — and  each  baffled  asp 

Fell  down  and  died  of  its  own  poison  sting 

Back  to  the  crag  dull-sail'd  the  death-bird's  wing. 

VOL.  II.  3 


30  KING    ARTHUR. 

XCVI. 

And  from  the  Statue's  smile,  as  when  the  morn 
Unlocks  the  Eastern  gates  of  Paradise, 

Ineffable  joy  in  light  and  beauty  borne, 

Flowed ;  and  the  azure  of  the  distant  skies 

Stole  thro'  the  crimson  hues  the  ruby  gave, 

And  slept,  like  Plappiness,  on  Glory's  wave. 

XCVII. 

"  Go,"  said  the  Image,  "  thou  hast  won  the  Sword ; 

He  who  thus  values  Honour  more  than  Fame 
Makes  Fame  itself  his  Servant,  not  his  lord ; 

And  the  man's  heart  achieves  the  hero's  claim. 
But  by  Ambition  is  Ambition  tried. 
None  gain  the  guerdon  who  betray  the  guide !" 

-  XCVTII. 

Wondering  the  Monarch  heard,  and  hearing,  laid 
On  the  bright  hilt-gem,  the  obedient  hand ; 

Swift  at  the  touch,  leapt  forth  the  diamond  blade. 
And  each  long  vista  lightened  with  the  brand ; 

The  speaking  marble  bowed  its  reverent  head. 

Rose  the  three  Kings — the  Dreamer  and  the  Dead ; 

xcix. 
Voices  far  off,  as  in  the  heart  of  heaven, 

Hymn'd  '^Hail,  Fame-Conqueror  in  the  Halls  of  Time;" 
Deep  as  to  hell  the  flaming  vaults  were  riven ; 

High  as  to  angels,  space  on  space  sublime 
Opened,  and  flash'd  upon  the  mortal's  eye 
The  Morning  Land  of  Immortality. 


BOOK    VII.  31 

c. 

Bow'd  down  before  the  intolerable  light, 

Sank  on  his  knees  the  King ;  and  humbly  veil'd 

The  home  of  Seraphs  from  the  human  sight ; 
Then  the  freed  Soul  forsook  him,  as  it  hail'd 

Thro'  Flesh,  its  prison-house, — the  spirit-choir ; 

And  fled  as  flies  the  music  from  the  lyre. 

CI. 

And  all  was  blank,  and  meaningless,  and  void ; 

For  the  dull  form,  abandoned  thus  below. 
Scarcely  it  felt  the  closing  waves  that  buoy'd 

Its  limbs,  light-drifting  down  the  gentle  flow — 
And  when  the  conscious  life  returned  again, 
Lo,  noon  lay  tranquil  on  the  ocean  main. 

CII. 

As  from  a  dream  he  woke,  and  looked  around. 
For  the  lost  Lake  and  Ogle's  distant  grave ; 

But  dark,  behind,  the  silent  headlands  frown'd ; 

And  bright,  before  him,  smiled  the  murmuring  wave ; 

His  right  hand  rested  on  the  falchion  won ; 

And  the  dove  plumed  her  pinions  in  the  sun. 


KING    ARTHUR. 


BOOK  viir. 


ARGUMENT. 

Lancelot  continues  to  watch  for  Arthur  till  the  eve  of  the  following  day, 
when  a  damsel  approaches  the  Lake ;  Lancelot's  discreet  behaviour  there- 
on, and  how  the  Knight  and  the  Damsel  converse ;  The  Damsel  tells  her 
tale ;  Upon  her  leaving  Lancelot,  the  fairy  ring  commands  the  Knight  to 
desert  his  watch,  and  follow  the  Maiden  ;  The  story  returns  to  Arthur, 
who,  wandering  by  the  sea-shore,  perceives  a  Bark  with  the  Raven  flag 
of  the  sea  kings ;  The  Dove  enjoins  him  to  enter  it;  The  Ship  is  deserted, 
and  he  waits  the  return  of  the  Crew ;  Sleep  falls  upon  him ;  The  con- 
soling A'^ision  of  ^gle;  What  befalls  Arthur  on  waking;  Meanwhile 
Sir  Gawaine  pursues  his  voyage  to  the  Shrine  of  Freya,  at  which  he  is 
to  be  sacrificed;  How  the  Hound  came  to  bear  him  company;  Sir  Ga- 
waine argues  with  the  Viking  on  the  inutility  of  roasting  him ;  The 
Viking  defends  that  measure  upon  philosophical  and  liberal  principles, 
and  silences  Gawaine;  The  Ship  arrives  at  its  destination;  Gawaine  is 
conducted  to  the  Shrine  of  Freya ;  The  Statue  o^  the  Goddess  described  ; 
Gawaine's  remarks  thereon,  and  how  he  is  refuted  and  enlightened  by 
the  Chief  Priest;  Sir  Gawaine  is  bound,  and  in  reply  to  his  natural 
curiosity,  The  Priest  explains  how  he  and  the  Dog  are  to  be  roasted  and 
devoured;  The  sagacious  proceedings  of  the  Dog;  Sir  Gawaine  fails  in 
teaching  the  Dog  the  duty  of  Fraternization;  The  Priest  re-enters,  and 
Sir  Gawaine,  with  much  satisfaction,  gets  the  best  of  the  Argument; 
Concluding  Stanzas  to  Nature, 


BOOK    VIII. 


N 


I. 

Lone  by  the  lake  reclined  young  Lancelot — 

Night  passed,  the  noonday  slept  on  wave  and  plain ; 

Lone  by  the  lake  watch'd  patient  Lancelot ; 
Like  Faith  assured  that  Love  returns  again. 

Noon  glided  on  to  eve ;  when  from  the  brake     - 

Brush'd  a  light  step  and  paused  beside  the  lake. 

II. 

How  lovely  to  the  margin  of  the  wave 

The  shy-eyed  Virgin  came !  and  all  unwitting 

The  unseen  Knight,  to  the  frank  sunbeam  gave 
Her  sunny  hair — its  snooded  braids  unknitting ; 

And,  fearless,  as  by  her  own  well  the  nymph, 

Sleek'd  the  loose  tresses,  mirror'd  in  the  lymph. 

III. 
And,  playful  now,  the  sandal  silks  unbound. 

Oft  from  the  cool  fresh  wave  with  coy  retreat 
Shrinking, — and  glancing  with  arch  looks  around, 

The  crystal  gleameth  with  her  ivory  feet. 
Like  floating  swan-plumes,  or  the  leaves  that  quiver 
From  water-lilies,  under  Himera's  river. 


36  KING    ARTHUR. 

IV. 

Ah  happy  Knight,  unscathed,  such  charms  espying, 
As  brought  but  death  to  the  profane  of  yore, 

When  Dian's  maids  to  angry  quivers  flying 
Pierced  the  bold  heart  presuming  to  adore ! 

Ah  happy  Knight,  unguest  in  thy  retreat. 

Envying  the  waves  that  kiss  those  starry  feet ! 

V. 

But  worthy  of  his  bUss,  the  loyal  Knight 

Pure  from  all  felon  thoughts  as  Knights  should  be. 

Revering,  angered  at  his  own  delight. 

The  lone,  unconscious,  guardless  modesty, 

Rose,  yet  unseen,  and  to  the  copse  hard  by, 

Stole  with  quick  footstep,  and  averted  eye. 

VI. 

But  as  one  tremor  of  the  summer  boughs 

Scares  the  shy  fawn,  so  with  that  hiintest  sound 

The  Virgin  starts,  and  back  from  rosy  brows 
Flings  wide  the  showering  gold ;  and  all  around 

Casts  the  swift  trouble  of  her  looks,  to  see 

The  white  plume  glisten  through  the  rustling  tree. 

VII. 

As  by  some  conscious  instinct  of  the  fear 

He  caused,  the  Knight  turns  back  his  reverent  gaze; 

And  in  soft  accents,  tuned  to  Lady's  ear 

In  gentle  courts,  her  purposed  flight  delays ; 

So  nobly  timid  in  his  look  and  tone 

As  if  the  power  to  harm  were  all  her  own. 


BOOK    VIII.  37 

VIII. 

"  Lady,  and  liege,  0  fly  not  thus  thy  slave ; 

If  he  offend,  unwillmg  the  oflence, 
For  safer  not  upon  the  unsullying  wave 

Doth  thy  pure  image  rest,  than  Innocence 
On  the  clear  thoughts  of  noble  men  !"     He  said ; 
And  low  with  downcast  lids,  replied  the  maid. 

IX. 

[Oh  from  those  lips  how  strangely  musical 

Sounds  the  loath'd  language  of  the  Saxon  foe !] 

"  Though  on  mine  ear  the  Cymrian  accents  fall. 
And  in  my  speech,  0  Cymrian,  thou  wilt  know 

The  Daughter  of  the  Saxon ;  marvel  not, 

That  less  I  fear  thee  in  this  lonely  spot, 

X. 

"  Than  hadst  thou  spoken  in  my  mother-tongue. 
Or  worn  the  aspect  of  my  father-race." 

Here  to  her  eyes  some  tearful  memory  sprung. 

And  youth's  glad  sunshine  vanished  from  her  face; 

Like  the  changed  sky  the  gleams  of  April  leave, 

Or  the  quick  coming  of  an  Indian  eve. 

XI. 

Moved,  yet  emboldened  by  that  mild  distress. 
Near  the  fair  shape  the  gentle  Cymrian  drew, 

Bent  o'er  the  hand  his  pity  dared  to  press. 

And  sooth'd  the  sorrow  ere  the  cause  he  knew. 

Frank  were  those  times  of  trustful  Chevisaunce,* 

And  Hearts  when  guileless  open  to  a  glance. 

•   Chevisaunce. — Spenser. 


38  KING    ARTHUR. 

XII. 

So  see  tliem  seated  by  the  haunted  lake, 
She  on  the  grassy  bank,  her  sylvan  throne^ 

He  at  her  feet — and  out  from  every  brake 
The  Forest- An  2:els*  sindncr  ■ — All  alone 

<— '  t_x  t_; 

With  Nature  and  the  Beautiful — and  Youth 
Pure  in  each  soul  as,  in  her  fountain,  Truth ! 

XIII. 

And  thus  her  tale  the  Teuton  maid  began  : 
"  Daughter  of  Harold,  Mercia's  Earl,  am  I. 

Small  need  to  tell  to  Knighthood's  Christian  son 
What  creed  of  wrath  the  Saxons  sanctify. 

With  songs  first  chaunted  in  some  thunder-field, 

Stern  nurses  rock'd  me  in  my  father's  shield. 

XIV. 

"  Motherless  both, — my  playmate,  sole  and  sweet. 
Years — sex,  the  same,  was  Crida's  youngest  child, 

(Crida,  the  Mercian  Ealder-King)  our  feet         [smil'd ; 
Roved  the  same  pastures  when  the  Mead-month*(* 

By  the  same  hearth  we  paled  to  Saga  runes. 

When  wolves  descending  howl'd  to  icy  moons. J 

XV. 

"  As  side  by  side,  two  osiers  o'er  a  stream. 
When  air  is  still,  with  separate  foliage  bend. 

But  let  a  breezelet  blow,  and  straight  they  seem 
With  trembling  branches  into  one  to  blend, 

So  grew  our  natures, — when  in  calm,  apart. 

But,  in  each  care,  commingling,  heart  to  heart. 

*  The  Angels  of  the  Grove  (Le,  the  birds)  is  a  pciphrasis  used  ni'^re  than  once 
by  our  earlier  Poets. 

■j-  'I'he  Mkadhionth,  June.  ^  i,  e.,  in  the  Wolf-month,  January. 


BOOK    YIII.  39 

XVI. 

'^  Her  soul  was  bright  and  tranquil  as  a  bird 
That  hangs  in  golden  noon  with  silent  wing, 

And  mine,  more  earthly,  gay,  and  quickly  stirr'd 
Did  like  the  gossamer  float  light,  to  cling 

To  each  frail  blossom, — weaving  idle  dreams 

Where'er  on  dew-drops  play'd  the  morning  beams. 

XVII. 

"  Thus  into  youth  we  grew,  when  Crida  ,bore 
Home  from  fierce  wars  a  British  Woman-slave, 

A  lofty  captive,  wdio  her  sorrow  wore 

As  Queens  a  mantle;  yet  not  proud,  tho'  grave, 

And  grave  as  if  with  pity  for  the  foe, 

Too  high  for  anger^  too  resigned  for  woe. 

XVIII. 

"  Much  moved  our  young  hearts  that  majestic  face. 
And  much  we  seemed  to  soothe  the  sense  of  thrall. 

She  learned  to  love  us, — let  our  love  replace 

That  she  had  lost, — and  thank'd  her  God  for  all, 

Even  for  chains  and  bondage  : — awed  we  heard, 

And  found  the  secret  in  the  Gospel  Word. 

XIX. 

"  Thus,  Cymrian,  we  were  Christians.    First,  the  slave 
Taught  that  bright  soul  whose  shadow  fell  on  mine ; 

Thus  we  were  Christians ; — but  as  thro'  the  cave 
Flow  hidden  river-springs,  the  Faith  Divine 

We  dared  not,  give  to-day — in  stealth  we  sung 

Hymns  to  the  Cymrian's  God^  in  Cymri's  tongue. 


40  KING    ARTHUR. 

XX. 

"And  for  our  earlier  names  of  heathen  sound, 

We  did  such  names  as  saints  have  borne,  receive ; 

One  name  in  truth,  tho'  with  a  varying  sound ; 
Genevra  I — and  she  sweet  Genevieve, — 

Words  that  escaped  from  other  ears,  unknown. 

But  spoke  as  if  from  Angels  to  our  own. 

XXI. 

"  Soon  with  thy  creed  w^e  learned  thy  race  to  love. 
Listening  high  tales  of  Arthur's  peerless  fame. 

But  most  such  themes  did  my  sweet  playmate  move ; 
To  her  the  creed  endeared  the  champion's  name. 

With  angel  thoughts  surrounded  Christ's  young  chief, 

And  gave  to  glory  haloes  from  Belief. 

XXII, 

"  Not  long  our  teacher  did  survive,  to  guide 
Our  feet,  delighted  in  the  new-found  ways ; 

Smiling  on  us — and  on  the  cross — she  died. 
And  vanish' d  in  her  grave  our  infant  days ; 

We  grew  to  woman  when  we  learned  to  grieve, 

And  Childhood  left  the  eyes  of  Genevieve. 

XXIII. 

"  Oft  ev'n  from  me,  musing  she  stole  away, 
Where  thick  the  woodland  girt  the  ruin'd  hall 

Of  Cymrian  kings,  forgotten ; — thro'  the  day 
Still  as  the  lonely  nightingale  midst  all 

The  joyous  choir  that  drown  her  murmuj* : — So 

Mused  Crida's  daughter  on  the  Saxon's  foe. 


BOOK    VIII.  41 

XXIV. 

"Alas !  alas  (sad  moons  have  waned  since  then  !) 
One  fatal  morn  her  forest  haunt  she  sought 

Nor  thence  returned ;  whether  by  lawless  men 
Captured,  or  flying,  of  her  own  free  thought, 

From  heathen  shrines  abhorr'd ; — all  search  was  vain, 

Ne'er  to  our  eyes  that  smile  brought  light  again." 

XXV. 

Here  paused  the  maid,  and  tears  gush'd  forth  anew, 
Ere  faltering  words  re  wove  the  tale  once  more ; 

"  Roused  from  his  woe,  the  wrathful  Crida  flew 
To  Thor's  dark  priests,  and  Woden's  wizard  lore. 

Task'd  was  each  rune  that  sways  the  demon  hosts, 

And  the  strong  seid"^'  compell'd  revealing  ghosts. 

XXVI. 

"  And  answered  priest  and  rune,  and  the  pale  Dead, 
'  That  in  the  fate  of  her,  the  Thor-descended, 

The  Gods  of  Cymri  wove  a  mystic  thread. 

With  Arthur's  life  and  Cymri's  glory  blended, 

And  Dragon-Kings  ordained  in  clouded  years. 

To  seize  the  birthright  of  the  Saxon  spears. 

XXVII. 

"  '  By  Arthur's  death,  and  Carduel's  towers  o'erthrown, 
Could  Thor  and  Crida  yet  the  web  unweave, 

Protect  the  Saxon's  threaten'd  gods ; — alone 
Regain  the  lost  one,  and  exulting  leave 

To  Hengist's  race  the  ocean-girt  abodes ; 

Till  the  Last  Twilightf  darken  round  the  Gods.' 

•  Magic. 

t  At  Kagnarok,  or  the  Twilight  of  the  Gods,  the  Aser  and  the  Giants  are  to" 
destroy  each  other  and  the  whole  earth  is  to  be  consumed. 


42  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXVIII. 

"  This  heard  and  this  believed,  the  direful  Kins; 

Convenes  his  Eorl-born  and  prepares  his  powers, 
Unfolds  the  omens,  and  the  tasks  they  bring, 

And  23oints  the  Valkyrs  to  the  Cymrian  towers. 
Dreadest  in  war — and  wisest  in  the  hall. 
Stands  my  great  Sire — the  Saxon's  Ilerman-Saul.* 

XXIX. 

"  He  to  secure  allies  beyond  the  sea 

Departs — but  first,  (for  well  he  loved  his  child,) 
He  drew  me  to  his  breast,  and  tenderly 

Chiding  my  tears,  he  spoke,  and  speaking  smiled, 
'  What'er  betides  thy  father  or  thy  land. 
Far  from  our  dangers  Astrildf  woos  thy  hand. 

XXX. 

"  '  Beorn,  the  bold  son  of  Sweyn,  the  Gotland  king, 
Whose  ocean  war-steeds  on  the  BalticJ  deeps 

Range  their  blue  pasture — for  thy  love  shall  bring 
As  morgen-gifts,§  to  Cymri's  mountain  keeps 

Arm'd  men  and  thunder.     Happy  is  the  maid, 

Whose  charms  lure  armies  to  her  Country's  aid.' 

*  Herman-Saul  (or  Saulc)  often  corrupt'y  written  Irminsula,  Armensula,  «&:c,,  the 
name  of  the  celebrated  Teuton  Idol  representing  an  armed  warrior  on  a  column, 
destroyed  by  Charlemagne,  a.  d.  772.  According  to  some  it  means  literally  the 
column  of  Herman,  i.  e-,  the  leader — the  War-God.  Others,  however,  have  sup- 
posed the  name  to  be  rather  Jormum-Saul,  the  great  or  Universal  Column,  and  so 
the  name  is  rendered  in  the  Latin  translation,  "  Universalis  Columiia." 

•j-  Astrild,  the  Cupid  of  the  Northern  Mythology. 

i  The  more  proper  word  for  the  Baltic,  viz.,  the  Eastern  S?ea,  would  probably 
convey  to  the  English  ear,  a  notion  contrary  to  that  which  is  intended,  and  there- 
fore the  familiar  word  in  the  text  is  selected,  though,  strictly  speaking,  the  name  of  the 
Baltic  does  not  appear  to  have  been  given  to  that  ocean  before  the  twelfth  century, 

§  MonoKN-GiFTs  maybe  rendered  marriage-gifts;  according  to  Saxon  usage 
bestowed  by  the  bridegroom  on  the  bride's  family  or  guardian. 


BOOK    VIII.  43 

XXXI. 

"  What,  while  I  heard,  the  terror  and  the  woe, 
Of  one  who,  vow'd  to  the  meek  Christian  God, 

Found  the  Earth's  partner  in  the  Heaven's  worst  foe ! 
For  ne'er  o'er  blazing  altars  Slaughter  trod. 

Redder  with  blood  of  saints  remorseless  slain. 

Than  Beorn,  the  Incarnate  Fenris*  of  the  main. 

XXXII. 

^*  Yet  than  such  nuptials  more  I  feared  the  frown 
Of  my  dread  father ; — motionless  I  stood, 

Rigid  in  horror,  mutely  bending  down 

The  eyes  that  dared  not  weep. — So  Solitude 

Found  me,  a  thing  made  soulless  by  despair. 

Till  tears  gave  way,  and  with  the  tears  fiow'd  prayer." 

XXXIII. 

Again  Genevra  paused  :  and  beautiful. 

As  Art  hath  imaged  Faith — look'd  up  to  heaven. 

With  eyes  that  glistening  smiled.     Along  the  lull 
Of  air,  waves  sigh'd — the  winds  of  stealing  Even     ' 

Murmured,  birds  sung,  the  leaflet  rustling  stirr'd ; 

His  own  loud  heart  was  all  the  list'ner  heard. 

XXXIV. 

The  maid  resumed — "  Scarce  did  my  Sire  return. 
To  loose  the  War-fiends  on  the  Cymrian  foe. 

Than  came  the  raven  oescaf  sent  by  Beorn, 
For  the  pale  partner  of  his  realms  of  snow ; 

Shuddering,  recoiling,  forth  I  stole  at  night. 

To  the  wide  forest  with  wild  thoudits  of  flight. 

*  Fenrts,  the  Demon  Wolf,  Son  of  Asa  Lok.         f  CEsca,  Scandinavian  Ship. 


44  KING     ARTHUR. 

XXXV. 

"  I  reached  the  ruined  halls  wherein  so  oft 
Lost  Genevieve  had  mused  lone  hours  away, 

When  halting  wistful  there,  a  strange  and  soft 
Slumber  fell  o'er  me,  or,  more  sooth  to  say, 

A  slumber  not,  but  rather  on  my  soul 

A  life-dream  clear  as  hermit  visions  stole. 

XXXVI. 

''  I  saw  an  aged  and  majestic  form. 

Robed  in  the  spotless  weeds  thy  Druids  wear, 

I  heard  a  voice  deep  as  when  coming  iltorm 

Sends  its  first  murmur  through  the  heaving  air. 

^  Return,' — it  said — '  return,  and  dare  the  sea, 

The  Eye  that  sleeps  not  looks  from  heaven  on  thee. 

XXXVII. 

"  The  form  was  gone,  the  Voice  was  hush'd,  and  grief 
Fled  from  my  heart ;  I  trusted  and  obey'd ; 

Weak  still,  my  weakness  leant  on  my  belief; 
I  saw  the  sails  unfurl,  the  headlands  fade ; 

I  saw  my  father,  last  upon  the  strand, 

Veiling  proud  sorrow  with  his  iron  hand. 

XXXVIII. 

"  Swift  through  the  ocean  clove  the  flashing  prows, 
And  half  the  dreaded  course  was  glided  o'er, 

When,  as  the  wolves,  which  night  and  winter  rouse 
In  cavernous  lairs,  from  seas  without  a  shore 

Clouds  swept  the  skies ;  and  the  swift  hurricane 

Rush'd  from  the  Nortli  along  the  maddening  main. 


BOOK  y I II.  45 

XXXIX. 

"  Startled  from  sleep  upon  the  verge  of  doom, 
With  wild  cry,  shrilling  thro'  the  wilder  blast, 

Uprose  the  seamen,  ghostlike  thro'  the  gloom, 
Hurrying  and  helpless ;  while  the  sail-less  mast 

Now  lightning-wreath'd,  now  indistinct  and  pale, 

Bow'd,  or,  rebounding,  groaned  against  the  gale, 

XL. 

••  And  crash'd  at  last ; — its  sullen  thunder  drown'd 
In  the  great  storm  that  snapp'd  it.     Over  all 

Swept  the  long  surges,  and  a  gurgling  sound 

Told  where  some  wretch,  that  strove  in  vain  to  call 

For  aid,  where  all  were  aidless,  thro'  the  spray 

Emerging,  gasp'd,  and  then  was  whirl'd  away. 

XLI. 

''  But  I,  who  ever  wore  upon  my  heart 

The  sjanbol  cross  of  Him  who  had  walked  the  seas, 
Bow'd  o'er  that  sign  my  head ;  and  pray'd  apart : 

When  through  the  darkness,  on  his  crawling  knees, 
Crept  to  my  side  the  chief,  and  crouch'd  him  there. 
Mild  as  an  infant,  listening  to  ray  prayer. 

XLII. 

^'' And  clinging  to  my  robes,  ^  Thee  have  I  seen,' 
Faltering  he  said,  ^when  round  thee  coil'd  the  blue 

Lightning,  and  rush'd  the  billow-swoop,  serene 
And  scatheless  smiling ;  surely  then  I  knew 

That,  strong  in  charms  or  runes  that  guard  and  save. 

Thou  mock'st  the  whirlwind  and  the  roaring  grave ! 

VOL.  II.  4 


46  KIXG    ARTHUR. 

XLTir. 

"  '  Shield  us,  3''oung  Vala,  from  the  wrath  of  Ean, 
And  calm  the  raging  Helhenn  of  the  deep.' 

As  from  a  voice  within,  I  answ^ered,  '  Man, 
Nor  rune  nor  charm  locks  into  mortal  sleep 

The  Present  God ;  by  Faith  all  ills  are  braved ; 

Trust  in  that  God ;  adore  Ilim,  and  be  saved.' 

XLIV. 

"  Then,  pliant  to  my  will,  the  ghastly  crew 

Crept  round  the  cross,  amid  the  howling  dark — 

Dark,  save  wdien  swift  and  sharp,  and  griding*  thro' 
The  cloud-mass  clove  the  lightning,  and  the  bark 

FLash'd  like  a  iloating  hell ;  Low  by  that  sign 

All  knelt,  and  voices  hollow-chimed  to  mine. 

XLV. 

"  Thus  as  we  prayed,  lo,  opened  all  the  Heaven, 
With  one  long  steadfast  splendour — calmly  o'er 

The  God-Cross  resting :  then  the  clouds  were  riven 
And  the  rains  fell ;  the  whirlwind  hush'd  its  roar, 

And  the  smooth'd  billows  on, the  ocean's  breast, 

As  on  a  mother's,  sighing,  sunk  to  rest. 

XLVI. 

"  So  came  the  dawn :  o'er  the  new  Christian  fold. 
Glad  as  the  Heavenly  Shepherd,  smiled  the  sun ; 

Then  to  those  grateful  hearts  my  tale  I  told. 

Then  heathen  bonds  the  Christian  maid  should  shun. 

And  praj^'d  in  turn  their    aid  my  soul  to  save 

From  doom  more  dismal  than  a  sinless  grave. 

•  Griding. — Milton.     '* The grtJing  sword  with  discontinuous  wound,'*  &c. 


BOOK    VIII.  47 

XLvn. 

"  Tliey,  with  one  shout,  proclaim  their  laiv  my  ^\'il], 
And  veer  the  prow  from  northern  snows  afar, 

Soon  gentler  winds  the  murmuring  canvas  fill, 

Fair  floats  the  bark  where  guides  the  western  star, 

From  coast  to  coast  we  pass'd,  and  peaceful  sail'd 

Into  lone  creeks,  by  yon  blue  mountains  veil'd. 

XLVIII. 

"  Here  all  wide-scattered  up  the  inward  land 

For  stores  and  water,  range  the  blithesome  crew ; 

Lured  by  the  smiling  shores,  one  gentler  band 
I  join'd  awhile,  then  left  them,  to  pursue 

Mine  o^vn  glad  fancies,  where  the  brooklet  clear 

Shot  singing  onward  to  the  sunlit  mere. 

XLIX. 

"And  so  we  chanced  to  meet !"     She  ceased  and  bent 
Down  the  fresh  rose-hues  of  her  eloquent  cheek ; 

Ere  Lancelot  spoke,  the  startled  echo  sent 

Loud  shouts  reverberate,  lengthening  plain  to  peak ; 

The  sounds  proclaim  the  savage  followers  near. 

And  straight  the  rose-hues  pale, — but  not  from  fear. 

L. 

Slowly  Genevra  rose,  and  her  sweet  eyes 

Raised  to  the  Knight's,  frankly  and  mournfully ; 

"  Farewell,"  she  said,  "  the  winged  moment  flies. 
Who  shall  say  whither  ? — if  this  meeting  be 

Our  last  as  first^  0  Christian  warrior,  take 

The  Saxon's  greeting  for  the  Christian's  sake. 


48  KIXG     ARTHUR. 

LI. 

"And  if,  returning  to  thy  perill'd  land, 

In  the  hot  fray  thy  sword  confront  my  Sire, 

Strike  not — remember  me  1"     On  her  fair  hand 
The  Cymrian  seals  his  lips ;  wild  thoughts  inspire 

Words  which  the  lips  may  speak  not : — but  what  truth 

Lies  hid  when  youth  reflects  its  soul  in  youth  ? 

LII. 

Keluctant  turns  Genevra,  lingering  turns, 
And  up  the  hill,  oft  pausing,  languid  wends. 

As  infant  flame  thro'  humid  fuel  burns. 

In  Lancelot's  heart  with  honour,  love  contends ; 

Longs  to  pursue,  regain,  and  cry,  "  Where'er 

Thou  wanderest,  lead  me  3  Paradise  is  there  !" 

LITI. 

But  the  lost  Arthur  ! — at  that  thought,  the  strength 

Of  duty  nerved  the  loyal  sentinel : 
So  by  the  lake  w^atch'd  Lancelot ;  at  length 

Upon  the  ring  his  looks,  in  drooping,  fell, 
And  see,  the  hand,  no  more  in  dull  repose. 
Points  to  the  path  in  which  Genevra  goes ! 

LIV. 

Amazed,  and  wrathful  at  his  own  delight. 

He  doubts,  he  hopes,  he  moves,  and  still  the  ring 

Repeats  the  sweet  command,  and  bids  the  Knight 
Pursue  the  Maid  as  if  to  find  the  Kino*. 

Yielding,  at  last,  though  half  remorseful  still. 

The  Cymrian  follows  up  the  twilight  hill. 


BOOK    VIII.  49 

LV. 

Meanwhile  along  the  beach  of  the  wide  sea, 
Wandered  the  dove-led  Arthur, — needful  food, 

The  Maenad's  fruits  from  many  a  purple  tree 

Flush'd  for  the  vintage,  gave ;  with  musing  mood, 

Lonely  he  strays  till  ^thra'^  sees  again 

Her  starry  children  smiling  on  the  main. 

LVI. 

Around  him  then,  curved  gray  the  hollow  creek ; 

Before,  a  ship  lay  still  with  lagging  sail ; 
A  gilded  serpent  glittered  from  the  beak. 

Along  the  keel  encoil'd  with  lengthening  trail ; 
Black  from  a  brazen  flag,  with  outstretched  wings 
Grimm'df  the  dread  Raven  of  the  Runic  kings. 

LVII. 

Here  paused  the  Wanderer,  for  here  flew  the  dove 
To  the  tall  mast,  and  murmuring,  hovered  o'er ; 

But  on  the  deck,  no  watch,  no  pilot  move, 
Life- void  the  vessel  as  the  lonely  shore. 

Far  on  the  sand-beach  drawn,  a  boat  he  spied. 

And  with  strong  hand  he  launch'd  it  on  the  tide. 

Lviir. 

Gaining  the  bark,  still  not  a  human  eye 

Peers  through  the  noiseless  solitary  shrouds ; 

So,  for  the  crew's  return,  all  patiently 

He  sate  him  down,  and  watch'd  the  phantom  clouds 

Flit  to  and  fro,  where  o'er  the  slopes  afar 

Reign  storm-girt  Arcas,J  and  the  Mother  Star. 

*  Both  the  Pleiades  and  the  Hyades  are  said  to  be  the  daughters  of  ^Ethra,  one  of 

the  Oceanides  by  Atlas, 

t  Grimni'd  from  the  verb  grirnmen,  whence  the  adjective  grim  that  we  sfill  retain, 
^  Ursa  Major  and  Ursa  Minor,  near  the  North  Pole,  supposed  by  the  Poets  to 

be  Areas  and  his  Mother. 


50  KING    ARTHUR. 

LIX. 

Thus  sleep  stole  o'er  him,  mercy-hallow'd  sleep, 
His  OAvn  lov'd  jEgle,  lovelier  tiian  of  old, 

0  lovelier  far — shone  from  the  azure  deep — 
And  like  the  angel  dying  saints  behold, 

Bent  o'er  his  brow,  and  with  ambrosial  kiss 

Breathed  on  his  soul  her  own  pure  spirit-bliss. 

LX. 

"  Never  more  grieve  for  me,"  the  Vision  said, 
"  Behold  how  beautiful  thy  bride  is  now ! 

Who  to  yon  Heaven  from  heathen  Hades  led 
Me,  thine  Immortal  ?     Mourner,  it  was  thou  ! 

Why  shouldst  thou  mourn  ?     In  the  empyreal  clime 

We  know  no  severance,  for  we  own  no  time, 

LXI. 

"  Both  in  the  Past  and  Future  circumfused. 
We  live  in  each ; — all  life's  more  happy  hours 

Bloom  back  for  us ; — all  prophet  Fancy  mused 
Fairest  in  days  to  come,  alike  are  ours : 

With  me  not  vet — I  ever  am  with  thee, 

Thy  presence  flows  through  my  eternity, 

Lxir. 

"  Think  thou  hast  bless'd  the  earth,  and  023ed  the  heaven 
To  her  baptized,  reborn,  through  thy  dear  love, — 

In  the  new  buds  that  Ijloom  for  thee,  be  given 
The  fragrance  of  the  primal  flower  above ! 

In  Heaven  we  are  not  jealous  ! — But  in  aught 

That  heals  remembrance  and  revives  the  thought, 


BOOK    Y  III.  51 

LXIII. 

"  That  makes  the  life  more  beautiful,  we  hind 
Those  who  survive  us  in  a  closer  chain : 

In  all  that  glacis  we  feel  ourselves  enshrined ; 
In  all  that  loves,  our  love  but  lives  again." 

Anew  she  kiss'd  his  brow,  and  at  her  smile 

Night  and  Creation  brighten'd !     He,  the  while, 

LXIV. 

Stretch'd  his  vain  arms,  and  clasp'd  the  mocking  air, 
And  from  the  raptu^^e  woke  !* — All  fiercely  round 

Groupe  savage  forms,  amidst  the  lurid  glare 
Of  lifted  torches,  red ;  fierce  tongues  resound, 

Discordant  clamoring  hoarse- — as  birds  of  prey 

Scared  by  man's  footstep  in  some  desolate  bay. 

LXV. 

Mild  thro'  the  throng  a  bright-hair'd  Virgin  came, 
And  the  roar  hushed; — while  to  the  Virgin's  breast 

Soft-cooing  fled  the  Dove.     His  own  great  name 
Rang  thro'  the  ranks  behind ;  quick  footsteps  prest 

(As  thro'  arm'd  lines  a  warrior)  to  the  spot. 

And  to  the  King  knelt  radiant  Lancelot. 

LXVT. 

Here  for  a  while  the  wild  and  fickle  song 

Leaves  the  crown'd  Seeker  of  the  Silver  Shield ; 

Thy  fates,  0  Gawaine,  done  to  grievous  wrong 
By  the  black  guide  perfidious,  be  reveal'd, 

Nearing,  poor  Knight,  the  Cannibalian  shrine. 

Where  Freya  scents  thee,  and  prepares  to  dine. 

•  The  reader  will  perhaps  perceive,  th  it  the  abjve  passage,  containing  Arthur's 
Vision  of  ^Egle,  is  partially  borrowed  from  tiie  apparition  of  Clorinda,  in  Tasso. — 
Cant.  xii. 


52  KING     ARTHUR. 

LXVII. 

Left  by  a  bride  and  outraged  by  a  raven, 

One  friend  still  shared  the  injured  captive's  lot; 

For,  as  the  vessel  left  the  Cvmrian  haven, 

The  faithful  hound,  Avhom  he  had  half  forgot, 

Swam  to  the  ship,  clombe,  up  the  sides,  on  board^ 

Snarl'd  at  the  Danes,  and  nestled  by  his  lord. 

LXVIII. 

The  hirsute  Captain  not  displeased  to  see  a 
New  honne  hoiicJie  added  to  the  destined  roast 

His  floating  larder  had  prepared  for  Freya, 
Welcomed  the  dog,  as  Charon  might  a  ghost ; 

Allowed  the  beast  to  share  his  master's  platter, 

And  daily  eyed  them  both, — and  thought  them  fatter ! 

LXIX. 

Even  in  such  straights,  the  Knight  of  golden  tongue 
'  Confronts  his  foe  with  arguings  just  and  sage, 
Whether  in  pearls  from  deeps  Druidic  strung, 

Or  link'd  synthetic  from  the  Stagirite's  page, 
Labouring  to  show  him  how  absurd  the  notion. 
That  roasting  Gawaine  would  affect  the  Ocean. 

LXX. 

But  that  enlightened  tho'  unlearned  man. 

Posed  all  the  lore  Druidical  or  Attic ; 
"  One  truth,"  quoth  he,  ''  instructs  the  Sons  of  Ban, 

(A  seaman  race  are  always  democratic,) 
That  truth  once  known,  all  else  is  worthless  lumber; 
'  The  greatest  pleasure  of  the  greatest  number.' 


BOOK    YIII.  53 

LXXI. 

''  No  pleasure  like  a  Christian  roasted  slowly, 
To  Odin's  greatest  number  can  be  given ; 

The  will  of  freemen  to  the  gods  is  holy ; 

The  People's  voice  must  be  the  voice  of  Heaven. 

On  selfish  principles  you  chafe  at  capture, 

But  what  are  private  pangs  to  public  rapture  ? 

LXXII. 

"  You  doubt  that  giving  you  as  food  for  Freya 
Will  have  much  marked  effect  upon  the  seas ; 

Let's  grant  you  right : — all  pleasure's  in  idea ; 
If  thousands  think  it,  you  the  thousands  please. 

Your  private  interest  must  not  be  the  guide, 

When  interest  clash  majorities  decide." 

LXXIII. 

These  doctrines,  wise,  and  worthy  of  the  race 
From  whose  free  notions  modern  freedom  flows, 

Bore  with  such  force  of  reasoning  on  the  case. 
They  left  the  knight  dumbfounded  at  the  close ; 

Foiled  in  the  w^eapons  which  he  most  had  boasted, 

He  felt  sound  logic  proved  he  should  be  roasted. 

LXXIV. 

Discreetly  waiving  farther  conversations. 
He,  henceforth,  silent  lived  his  little  hour ; 

Indulo'ed  at  times  such  soothins:  meditations, 

As,  "  Flesh  is  grass," — and  "  Life  is  but  a  flower." 

For  men,  like  swans,  have  strains  most  edifying. 

They  never  think  of  till  the  time  for  dying. 


54  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXV. 

And  now  at  last,  the  fatal  voyage  o'er, 

Sir  Gawaine  hears  the  joyous  shout  of  "  Land  !" 

Two  Vikings  lead  him  courteously  on  shore : 
A  crowd  as  courteous  wait  him  on  the  strand. 

Fifes,  viols,  trumpets  braying,  screaming,  strumming, 

Flatter  his  ears,  and  compliment  his  coming. 

LXXVI. 

Eight  on  the  shore  the  gracious  temple  stands, 
Form'd  like  a  ship,  and  jjuilded  but  of  log ; 

Thither  at  once  the  hospitable  bands 

Lead  the  grave  Knight  and  unsuspicious  dog. 

Which,  greatly  pleased  to  walk  on  land  once  more, 

Swells  with  unprescient  bark  the  tuneful  roar. 

LXXVII. 

Six  Priests  and  one  tall  Priestess  clothed  in  white, 
Advance — and  meet  them  at  the  porch  divine; 

With  seven  loud  shrieks  they  pounce  upon  the  Knight,- 
Whisked  by  the  Priests  behind  the  inmost  shrine, 

While  the  tall  Priestess  asks  the  congregation 

To  come  at  dawn  to  witness  the  oblation. 

LXXVIII. 

Tho'  somewhat  vex'd  at  this  so  brief  delay — 
Yet  as  the  rites,  in  truth,  required  preparing. 

The  Hock  obedient  took  themselves  aw^ay ; — 
Meanwhile  the  Knight  was  on  the  Idol  staring, 

Not  without  wonder  at  the  tastes  terrestrial 

Which  in  that  image,  hail'd  a  shape  celestial. 


BOOK    YIII.  55 

LXXIX. 

Full  thirty  ells  in  height — the  goddess  stood 
Based  on  a  column  of  the  bones  of  men, 

Daub'd  was  her  face  with  clots  of  human  blood, 
Her  jaws  as  wide,  as  is  a  tiger's  den ; 

With  giant  fangs  as  strong  and  huge  as  those 

That  cranch  the  reeds,  thro'  which  the  sea-horse  goes. 

LXXX. 

"  Right  reverend  Sir,"  quoth  he  of  golden  tongue, 

"A  most  majestic  gentlewoman  this ! 
Is  it  the  Freya*  whom  your  scalds  have  sung 

Goddess  of  love  and  sweet  connubial  bliss  ? — 
If  so — despite  her  very  noble  carriage, 
Her  charms  are  scarce  what  youth  desires  in  marriage." 

LXXXI. 

"  Stranger,"  said  one  who  seemed  the  hierarch-priest — 

"  In  that  sublime,  symbolical  creation, 
The  outward  image  but  conveys  the  least 

Of  Freya's  claims  on  human  veneration — 
But,  (thine  own  heart  if  Love  hath  ever  glowed  in,) 
Thou' It  own  that  Love  is  quite  as  fierce  as  Odin  1 

LXXXII. 

^^  Hence,  as  the  cause  of  full  one  half  our  quarrels, 
Freya  with  Odin  shares  the  rites  of  blood  ; — 

In  this — thou  see'st  a  hidden  depth  of  morals, 
But  by  the  vulgar  little  understood ; — 

We  do  not  roast  thee  in  an  idle  frolic ;" 

But  as  a  type  mysterious  and  symbolic." 

*  Freya  is  the  Goddess  of  love,  beauty,  and  Hymen;  the  Scandinavian  Venus. 


56  KING    ARTHUR. 

Lxxxiir. 

The  liierarch  motions  to  the  priests  around, 
They  bind  the  victim  to  the  Statue's  base, 

Then,  to  the  Knight  they  link  the  wondering  hound, 
Some  three  yards  distant — looking  face  to  face. 

"  One  word,"  said  Gawaine — "  ere  your  worships  quit  us, 

"  How  is  it  meant  that  Freya  is  to  eat  us  ?" 

LXXXIV. 

"  Stranger,"  replied  the  priest — "  albeit  we  hold 
Such  questions  idle,  and  perhaps  profane ; 

Yet  much  the  wise  will  pardon  to  the  bold — 
When  what  they  ask  't  is  easy  to  explain — 

Still  typing  Truth,  and  shaped  with  sacred  art, 

We  place  a  furnace  in  the  statue's  heart. 

LXXXV. 

"  That  furnace  heated  by  mechanic  laws 

Which  gods  to  priests  for  godlike  ends  permit, 

We  lay  the  victim  bound  across  the  jaws. 
And  let  him  slowly  turn  upon  a  spit ; 

The  jaws — (when  done  to  what  we  think  their  liking) 

Close ; — all  is  over  : — The  effect  is  striking." 

LXXXVI. 

At  that  recital  made  in  tone  complacent 

The  frozen  Knight  stared  speechless  and  aghast, 

Stared  on  those  jaws  to  which  he  was  subjacent, 
And  felt  the  grinders  cranch  on  their  repast. 

Meanwhile  the  priest  said — "  Keep  your  spirits  up. 

And  ere  I  go,  say  when  you'd  like  to  sup?" 


BOOK    VIII.  57 


LXXXVII. 

''  Sup !"  faltered  out  the  melancholy  Knight, 
"  Sup  !  pious  Sir — no  trouble  there,  I  pray  ! 

Good  tho'  I  grant  my  natural  appetite, 
The  thought  of  Freya's  takes  it  all  away : 

As  for  the  dog — poor,  unenlightened  glutton. 

Blind  to  the  future, — let  him  have  his  mutton." 

LXXXVIII. 

'T  is  night :  behold  the  dog  and  man  alone ! 

The  man  hath  said  his  thirtieth  noster  jyater^ 
The  dog  has  supped,  and  having  picked  his  bone, 

(The  meat  was  salted)  feels  a  wish  for  water  \ 
Puts  out  in  vain  a  reconnoitering  paw. 
Feels  the  cord,  smells  it,  and  begins  to  gnaw. 

LXXXIX. 

Abash'd  Philosophy,  that  dog  survey ! 

Thou  call'st  on  freemen — bah  !  expand  thy  scope  ! 
'  Aide4oi  toi  meme^  et  Dieu  faideraP 

Doth  thraldom  bind  thee? — gnaw  thyself  the  rope. — 
Whatever  Laws,  and  Kings,  and  States  may  be ; 
Wise  men  in  earnest,  can  be  always  free. 

xc. 

By  a  dim  lamp  upon  the  altar  stone 

Sir  Gawaine  marked  the  inventive  work  canine ; 
"  Cords  bind  us  both — the  dog  has  gnawed  his  own  ; 

0  Dog  skoinophagous'^" — a  tooth  for  mine  ! — 
And  both  may  scape  that  too-refining  Goddess 
Who  roasts  to  types  what  Nature  meant  for  bodies." 

*  Id  est  "rope-eating" — a  compound  adjective  borrowed  from  such  Greek  as  Sir 
Gawaine  might  have  learned  at  the  then  flourishing  c»l!ege  of  Caerleon.  The  les- 
sons of  education  naturally  recur  to  us  in  our  troubles. 


58  KING    ARTHUR. 

XCI. 

Sir  GaAvaine  calls  the  emancipated  lioiiiid, 
And  strives  to  show  his  own  illegal  ties ; 

Explaining  how  free  dogs,  themselves  unbound. 
With  all  who  would  be  free  should  fraternise — 

The  dog  looked  puzzled,  licked  the  fettered  hand, 

Pricked  up  his  ears — but  would  not  understand. 

XCII. 

The  unhappy  Knight  perceived  the  hope  was  o'er, 

And  did  again  to  fate  his  soul  resign ; 
When  hark  !  a  footstep,  and  an  opening  door, 

And  lo  once  more  the  Hierarch  of  the  shrine ; 
The  dog  his  growl  at  Gawa^ine's  whisper  ceast, 
And  dog  and  Knight,  both  silent  watched  the  priest. 

xciir. 

The  subtle  captive,  saw  with  much  content 
No  sacred  comrade  had  that  reverend  man ; 

Beneath  a  load  of  sacred  charcoal  bent. 

The  Priest  approach'd ;  when  Gawaine  thus  began 

"  It  shames  me  much  to  see  you  thus  bent  double, 

And  feel  myself  the  cause  of  so  much  trouble. 

XCIV. 

"  Doth  Freya's  kitchen,  ventrical  and  holy, 

Afford  no  meaner  scullion  to  prepare 
The  festive  rites  ? — on  you  depends  it  wholly 

To  heat  the  oven  and  to  dress  the  fare  ?" 
''  To  hands  less  j)ure  are  given  the  outward  things, 
To  Ilierarchs  only,  the  interior  springs," 


BOOK    YIII.  59 

xcv. 

Eeplied  the  Priest — "  and  till  my  task  is  o'er, 
AH  else  intruding,  wrath  divine  incur." 

Sir  Gawaine  heard  and  not  a  sentence  more 

Sir  Gawaine  said,  than — "  Up  and  seize  him,  Sir," 

Sprung  at  the  word,  the  dog ;  and  in  a  trice 

Grip'd  the  Priest's  throat  and  lock'd  it  like  a  vice. 

xcvi. 
"  Pardon,  my  sacred  friend,"  then  quoth  the  Knight, 

"  You  are  not  strangled  from  an  idle  frolic, 
When  bit  the  biter,  you'll  confess  the  bite 

Is  full  of  sense,  mordacious  but  symbolic; 
In  roasting  men,  0  culinary  brother, 
Learn  this  grand  truth — '  one  turn  deserves  another  1' " 

XCVII. 

Extremely  pleased  the  oratorio  Knight 
Regained  the  vantage  he  had  lost  so  long, 

For  sore,  till  then,  had  been  his  just  despite 

That  Northern  wit  should  foil  his  golden  tongue. 

Now,  in  debate  how  proud  was  his  condition. 

The  opponent  posed  and  by  his  own  position ! 

XCVIII. 

Therefore,  with  more  than  his  habitual  breeding. 
Resumed  benign  an  tly  the  bland  Gawaine, 

While  much  the  Priest  against  the  dog's  proceeding 
With  stifling  gasps  protested,  but  in  vain — 

"  Friend — (softly,  dog ;  so — ho  !)   Thou  must  confess 

Our  selfish  interests  bid  us  coalesce. — 


60  KING    ARTHUR. 

XCIX. 

'^  Uiiknit  tliese  cords ;  and,  once  unloosed  the  knot, 
I  pledge  my  troth  to  call  the  hound  away, 

If  thou  accede — a  show  of  hands !  if  not 
TJiat  dog  at  least  I  fear  must  have  his  day." 

High  in  the  air,  both  hands  at  once  appear ! 

'^  Carried,  nem.  con., — Dog?  fetch  him, — gently,  here  !" 

c. 
Not  without  much  persuasion  yields  the  hound ! 

Loosens  the  throat,  to  gripe  the  sacred  vest. 
''  Priest,"  quoth  Gawaine,  "  remember,  but  a  sound. 

And  straight  the  dog — let  fanc}^  sketch  the  rest !" 
The  Priest^  by  fancy  too  dismay'd  already, 
Fumbles  the  knot  with  lingers  far  from  steady. 

CI. 

Hoarse,  while  he  fumbles,  growls  the  dog  suspicious. 
Not  liking  such  close  contact  to  his  Lord ; 

(The  best  of  friends  are  sometimes  too  officious, 
And  grudge  all  help  save  that  themselves  afford.) 

His  hands  set  free,  the  Knight  assists  the  Priest, 

And,  finis,  funis,  stands  at  last  releast. 

en. 
True  to  his  word — and  party  coalitions, 

The  Knight  then  kicks  aside  the  dog,  of  course ; 
Salutes  the  foe  and  states  the  new  conditions 

The  facts  connected  with  the  times  enforce ; 
All  coalitions  naturally  denote. 
That  State-Metempsychosis — change  of  coat ! 


BOOK    VIII.  61 

CUT. 

"  Ergo,"  quoth  Gawaine, — "  first,  the  sacred  cloak  ; 

Next,  when  two  parties,  but  concur  pro.  temp. 
Their  joint  opinions  only  should  be  spoke 

By  that  which  has  most  cause  to  fear  the  hemp. 
Wherefore,  my  friend,  this  scarf  supplies  the  gag 
To  keep  the  cat  symbolic — in  the  bag  ! — " 

CIV. 

So  said,  so  done,  before  the  Priest  was  able 
To  prove  his  counter  interest  in  the  case. 

The  Knight  had  bound  him  with  the  victim's  cable, 
Closed  up  his  mouth  and  covered  up  his  face. 

His  sacred  robe  with  hands  profane  had  taken. 

And  left  him  that  which  Gawaine  had  forsaken. 

cv. 

Then  boldly  out  into  the  blissful  air. 

Sir  Gawaine  stept !     Sweet  Halidom  of  Night ; 

With  Ocean's  heart  of  music  heaving  there. 
Under  its  starry  robe  ! — and  all  the  might 

Of  rock  and  shore,  and  islet  deluge-riven, 

Distinctly  dark  against  the  lustrous  heaven ! 

cva/ 

Calm  lay  the  large  rude  Nature  of  the  North, 
Glad  as  when  first  the  stars  rejoicing  sang, 

And  fresh  as  when  from  kindling  Chaos  forth 
(A  thought  of  God)  the  young  Creation  sprang ; 

When  man  in  all  the  present  Father  found. 

And  for  the  Temple,  paused  and  look'd  around ! 

VOL.  II.  5 


62  KING    ARTHUR. 

CVTI. 

Nature,  thou  earliest  Gospel  of  the  Wise, 
Thou  never-silent  Hymner  unto  God ! 

Thou  Angel-Ladder  lost  amid  the  skies, 
Tho'  at  the  foot  we  dream  upon  the  sod ! 

To  thee  the  Priesthood  of  the  Lyre  belong — 

They  hear  Religion  and  reply  in  Song ! 

CVIII. 

If  he  hath  held  thy  worship  undefiled 

Through  all  the  sins  and  sorrows  of  his  youth. 

Let  the  man  echo  what  he  heard  as  Child 
From  the  far  hill-tops  of  melodious  Truth, 

Leaving  on  troubled  hearts  some  lingering  tone 

Sweet  with  the  solace  thou  hast  given  his  own ! 


KING    ARTHUR. 


BOOK  IX. 


ARGUMENT. 

Invocation  to  the  North ;  Winter,  Labour,  and  Necessity,  as  Agents  of 
Civilization — The  Polar  Seas  described  ;  the  lonely  Ship  ;  its  Leader 
and  Crew;  Honour  due  from  Song  to  the  Discoverer!  The  battle  with 
the  Walruses ;  the  crash  of  The  floating  Icebergs  ;  The  ship  ice-locked ; 
Arthur's  address  to  the  Norwegian  Crew;  They  abandon  the  vessel  and 
reach  land  ;  the  Dove  finds  the  healing  herb  ;  returns  to  the  ship,  which 
is  broken  up  for  log  huts  ;  The  winter  deepens  ;  The  sufferings  and 
torpor  of  the  crew  ;  The  effect  of  Will  upon  life ;  Will  preserves  us  from 
ills  our  own,  not  from  sympathy  Avith  the  ills  of  others ;  Man  in  his 
higher  development  has  a  two-fold  nature — in  his  imagination  and  his 
feelings  ;  Imagination  is  lonely.  Feeling  social ;  The  strange  aifection 
between  the  King  and  the  Dove ;  The  King  sets  forth  to  explore  the 
desert ;  his  joy  at  recognizing  the  print  of  human  feet ;  The  attack  of 
the  Esquimaux  ;  The  meeting  between  Arthur  and  his  friend ;  The 
crew  are  removed  to  the  ice-huts  of  the  Esquimaux  ;  The  adventures 
of  Sir  Gawaine  continued  ;  His  imposture  in  passing  himself  off  as  a 
priest  of  Freya  ;  He  exorcises  the  winds  which  the  Norwegian  hags 
had  tied  up  in  bags  ;  And  accompanies  the  Whalers  to  the  North  Seas  ; 
The  storm ;  How  Gawaine  and  his  hound  are  saved  ;  He  delivers  the 
Pigmies  from  the  Boars,  and  finally  establishes  himself  in  the  Settle- 
ment of  the  Esquimaux ;  Philosophical  controversy  between  Arthur 
and  Gawaine  relative  to  the  Raven — Arthur  briefly  explains  how  he 
came  into  the  Polar  Seas  in  search  of  the  Shield  of  Thor ;  Lancelot 
and  Genevra  having  sailed  for  Carduel  ;  Gawaine  informs  Arthur  that 
the  Esquimaux  have  a  legend  of  a  Shield  guarded  by  a  Dwarf ;  The 
first  appearance  of  the  Polar  Sun  above  the  horizon. 


BOOK    IX. 


I. 

Throned  on  the  dazzling  and  untrodden  height, 
Formed  of  the  frost-gems  ages*  labour  forth 

From  the  blanch'd  air — crown'd  with  the  pomp  of  light 
I'  the  midst  of  dark, — stern  Father  of  the  North, 

Thee  I  invoke,  as,  awed,  my  steps  profane 

The  dumb  gates  opening  on  thy  deathlike  reign ! 

II. 
Thee,  sure  the  Ithacanf — thee,  sure,  dread  lord. 

When  in  the  dusky,  Avan,  Cimmerian  waste 
By  the  last  bounds  of  Ocean,  he  explored 

Ghast  Erebus,  beheld ; — and  here  embraced 
In  vain  the  phantom  Mother !  lo,  the  gloom 
Pierced  by  no  sun, — the  Hades  of  the  tomb ! — 

III. 

Magnificent  horror  ! — How  like  royal  Death 
Broods  thy  great  hush  above  the  seeds  of  Life ! 

Under  the  snow-mass  cleaves  thine  icy  breath. 
And  Avith  the  birth  of  fairy  forests  rife. 

Blushes  the  world  of  white ;  J — the  green  that  glads 

The  wave,  is  but  the  march  of  myriads; 

*  The  mountains  of  hard  and  perfect  ice  are  the  gradual  production  perhaps  of 
many  centuries. — Leslie's  Polar  Stas  and  Regions. 
■\  Ulysses,     Odys.  1.  xi. 
\  The  phenomenon  of  the  red  snow  on  the  Arctic  mountains  is  formed  by  innumer- 


66  KING     ARTHUR. 

IV. 

There,  immense,  moves  uncouth  leviathan ; 

There  from  the  hollows  of  phantasmal  isles, 
The  morse*  emerging  rears  the  face  of  man, 

There  the  huge  bear  scents,  miles  on  desolate  miles, 
The  basking  seal ; — and  ocean  shallower  grows, 
Where,  thro'  its  world  a  world,  the  krakenf  goes. 


V. 

Father  of  races  who  have  led  back  Time 
Into  the  age  of  Demigods ; — whose  art 

Excells  all  Egypt's  magic — Wizards  sublime 

To  whom  the  Elements  are  slaves;  whose  chart 

Belts  worlds  by  boldest  seraph  yet  untrod, 

The  embryo  orbs  flash'd  from  the  smile  of  God, — 


VI. 

Imperial  Winter,  hail ! — All  hail  with  thee 
Man's  Demiurgus,  Labour,  side  by  side 

With  thy  stern  grandeur  seated  kinglily, 
And  ever  shaping  out  the  fates  that  guide 

The  onward  cycles  to  the  farthest  goal 

I'  the  fields  of  light, — the  loadstone  of  the  soul ! 

able  vegetable  bodies ;  and  the  olive  green  of  the  Greenland  Sea  by  Medusan  animal- 
( ules,  the  number  of  which  Mr.  Scoresby  illustrates  by  supposing  that  80,000 
l)ersons  would  have  been  employed  since  the  creation  in  counting  it. — See  Lkslik. 

*  The  Morse,  or  Walrus,  supposed  to  be  the  original  of  the  Merman  ;  from  iha 
likeness  its  face  presents  at  a  little  distance  to  that  of  a  human  being. 

•j-  The  kraken  is  probably  not  wholly  fabulous,  but  has  its  prototype  in  the  enor- 
mous polypus  of  the  Arctic  Seas. 


BOOK    IX.  67 

VII. 

Winter,  and  Labour,  and  Necessity, 
Behold  the  Three  that  make  us  what  we  are, 

The  eternal  pilots  of  a  shoreless  sea, 
The  ever-conquering  armies  of  the  Far ! 

By  these  we  scheme,  invent,  ascend,  aspire. 

And,  pardon'd  Titans,  steal  from  Jove  the  fire ! 

VIII. 

Dumb  Universe  of  Winter — there  it  lies 
Dim  thro'  the  mist,  a  spectral  skeleton ! 

Far  in  the  wan  verge  of  the  solid  skies 

Hangs  day  and  night  the  phantom  of  a  moon ; 

And  slowly  moving  on  the  horizon's  brink 

Floats  the  vast  ice-field  with  its  glassy  blink.* 

IX. 

But  huge  adown  the  liquid  Infinite 

Drift  the  sea  Andes — by  the  patient  wrath 

Of  the  strong  waves  uprooted  from  their  site 
In  bays  forlorn — and  on  their  winter  path, 

(Themselves  a  winter,)  glide,  or  heavily,  where 

They  freeze  the  wind,  halt  in  the  inert  air. 

Nor  bird  nor  beast  lessens  with  visible 

Life,  the  large  awe  of  space  without  a  sun ; 

Tho'  in  each  atom  life  unseen  doth  dwell 

And  glad  with  gladness  God  the  Living  One. 

He  breathes — but  breathless  hangs  the  airs  that  freeze  ! 

He  speaks — but  noiseless  list  the  silences  ! 

•  The  ice-blink  seen  on  the  horizon. 


68  KING    ARTHUR. 

XI. 

A  lonely  ship — lone  in  the  me.;sureless  sea, 
Lone  in  tlie  channel  thro'  the  frozen  steeps, 

Like  some  bold  thought  launched  on  infinity 
By  early  sage — comes  glimmering  up  the  deeps ! 

The  dull  wave,  dirge-like,  moans  beneath  the  oar ; 

The  dull  air  heaves  with  wings  that  glide  before. 

XII. 

From  earth's  warm  precincts,  thro'  the  sunless  gates 
That  guard  the  central  NifFelheim*  of  Dark, 

Into  the  heart  of  the  vast  Desolate, 

Lone  flies  the  Dove  before  the  lonely  bark. 

While  the  crown'd  seeker  of  the  glory-spell 

Looks  to  the  angel  and  disdains  the  hell. 

XIII. 

Huddled  on  deck,  one-half  that  hardy  crew 
Lie  shrunk  and  withered  in  the  biting  sky. 

With  filmy  stare  and  lips  of  livid  hue. 
And  sapless  limbs  that  stiffen  as  they  lie ; 

While  the  dire  pest-scourge  of  the  frozen  zonef 

Rots  thro'  the  vein,  and  gnaws  the  knotted  bone. 

XIV. 

Yet  still  the  hero-remnant,  sires  perchance 

Of  Hollo's  Norman  knighthood,  dauntless  steer 

Along  the  deepening  horror,  and  advance 
Upon  the  invisible  foe,  loud  chaunting  clear 

Some  lusty  song  of  Thor,  the  ILxmmer-God, 

When  o'er  those  iron  seas  the  Thunderer  trod, 

*  Vapour-horne,  or  Scandinavian  hell. 

t  Though  ihe  fearful  disease  known  by  the  name  of  the  scurvy  is  not  peculiar 
to  the  northern  latitudes;  and  Dr.  Budd  has  ably  disproved  (in  the  Library  of  Prac- 


BOOK    IX.  69 

XV. 

And  pierced  the  halls  of  Lok !     Still  while  they  sung, 
The  sick  men  lifted  dim  their  languid  eyes, 

And  palely  smiled,  and  with  convulsive  tongue 
Chimed  to  the  choral  chaunt  in  hollow  sighs ; 

Living  or  dying,  those  proud  hearts  the  same 

Swell  to  the  danger  and  foretaste  the  fame 

XVI. 

On,  ever  on,  labours  the  lonely  bark. 

Time  in  that  world  seems  dead.     Nor  jocund  sun 
Nor  rosy  Hesperus  dawns ;  but  visible  Dark 

Stands  round  the  ghastly  moon.     For  ever  on 
Labours  the  lonely  bark,  thro'  lock'd  defiles 
That  crisping  coil  around  the  drifting  isles. 

XVII. 

Honour,  thrice  honour  unto  ye,  0  Brave ! 

And  ye,  our  England's  sons,  in  the  later  day. 
Whose  valour  to  the  shores  of  Hela  gave 

Names, — as  the  guides  where  suns  deny  the  ray ! 
And,  borne  by  hope  and  vivid  strength  of  soul, 
Left  Man's  last  landmark — Nature's  farthest  goal ! 

XVIII. 

Whom,  nor  the  unmoulded  chaos,  with  its  birth 
Of  uncouth  monsters,  nor  the  fierce  disease, 

Nor  horrible  f\imine,  nor  the  Stygian  dearth 
Of  Orcus,  dead'ning  adamantine  seas, 

Scared  from  the  Spirit's  grand  desire, — to  know  ! 

The  Galileos  of  new  worlds  below ! 

tical  Medicine)  the  old  theory  that  it  originated  in  cold  and  moisture  ;  yet  the  disease 
was  known  in  the  north  of  Europe  from  the  remotest  ages,  while  no  mention  is 
made  of  its  appearance  in  more  genial  climates  before  the  year  1260. 


70  KING    ARTHUR. 

XIX. 

Man  the  Discoverer — whosoe'er  thou  art, 
Honour  to  thee  from  all  the  lyres  of  song ! 

Honour  to  him  who  leads  to  Nature's  heart 
One  footstep  nearer !     To  the  Muse  belong 

All  who  enact  what  in  the  song  we  read ; 

Man's  noblest  poem  is  Man's  bravest  deed. 

XX. 

On,  ever  on, — when  veering  to  the  West 
Into  a  broader  desert  leads  the  Dove; 

A  larger  ripple  stirs  the  ocean's  breast, 
A  hazier  vapour  undulates  above ; 

Along  the  ice-fields  move  the  things  that  live, 

Large  in  the  life  the  misty  glamours  give. 

XXI. 

In  flocks  the  lazy  walrus  lay  around 

Gazing  and  stolid ;  while  the  dismal  crane 

Stalk'd  curious  near ; — and  on  the  hinder  ground 
Paused  indistinct  the  Fenris  of  the  main, 

The  insatiate  bear,— to  sniff  the  stranger  blood, — 

For  Man  till  then  had  vanished  since  the  flood, 

XXII. 

And  all  of  Man  were  fearless ! — On  the  sea 
The  vast  leviathians  came  up  to  breathe, 

With  their  young  giants  leaping  forth  in  glee, 
Or  leaving  whirlpools  where  they  sank  beneath. 

And  round  and  round  the  bark  the  narwal*  sweeps, 

With  white  horn  ^listenin«:  thro'  the  sluirirish  deeps. 

*  The  Sea  Unicorn. 


BOOK    IX.  71 

XXIII. 

Uprose  a  bold  Norwegian,  hunger-stung. 

As  near  the  icy  marge  a  walrus  lay, 
Hurl'd  his  strong  spear,  and  smote  the  beast  and  sprung 

Upon  the  frost-field  on  the  wounded  prey  ;-^— 
Sprung  and  recoiled — as,  writhing  with  the  pangs, 
The  bulk  heaved  towards  him  with  its  flashing  fangs. 

XXIV. 

Roused  to  fell  life — around  their  comrade  throng. 
Snorting  wild  wrath,  the  shapeless,  grisly  swarms — 

Like  moving  mounts  slow  masses  trail  along ; 
Aghast  the  man  beholds  the  larva-forms — 

Flies — climbs  the  bark — the  deck  is  scaled — is  won ; 

And  all  the  monstrous  march  rolls  lengthening  on. 

XXV. 

"  Quick  to  your  spears !"  the  kingly  leader  cries. 

Spears  flash  on  flashing  tusks ;  groan  the  strong  planks 
With  the  assault :  front  after  front  they  rise 

With  their  bright*  stare ;  steel  thins  in  vain  their  ranks. 
And  dyes  with  blood  their  birth-place  and  their  grave ; 
Mass  rolls  on  mass,  as  flows  on  wave  a  wave. 

XXVI. 

These  strike  and  rend  the  reeling  sides  below ; 

Those  grappling  clamber  up  and  load  the  decks, 
With  looks  of  wrath  so  human  on  the  foe. 

That  half  they  seem  the  ante-Daedal  wrecks 
Of  what  were  men  in  worlds  before  the  Ark  ! 
Thus  raged  the  immane  and  monster  war — when,  hark, 

•  The  eye  of  the  Walrus  is  singularly  bright. 


72  KING   Arthur. 

XXVII. 

Crash'cl  thro'  the  dreary  air  a  thunder  peal ! 

In  their  slow  courses  meet  two  ice-rock  isles 
Clanging ;  the  wide  seas  far-resounding  reel ; 

The  toppling  ruin  rolls  in  the  defiles ; 
Tlie  pent  tides  quicken  with  the  headlong  shock ; 
Broad-billowing  heave  the  long  waves  from  the  rock ; 

XXVIII. 

Far  down  the  booming  vales  precipitous 
Plunges  the  stricken  galley, — as  a  steed 

Smit  by  the  shaft  runs  reinless, — o'er  the  prows 
Howl  the  lash'd  surges ;  Man  and  monster  freed 

By  power  more  awful  from  the  savage  fray, 

Here  roaring  sink — there  dumbly  whirl  away. 

XXIX. 

The  w^ater  runs  in  maelstroms ; — as  a  reed 
Spins  in  an  eddy  and  then  skirs  along, — 

Round  and  around  emerged  and  vanished 
The  mighty  ship  amidst  the  mightier  throng 

Of  the  revolving  hell.     With  abrupt  spring 

Boundin«:  at  last — on  it  shot  maddeninj 


^g- 


XXX. 

Behind  it,  thunderous  swept  the  glacier  masses, 
Shivering  and  splintering,  hurthng  each  on  each  : 

Narrower  and  narrower  press  the  frowning  passes : — 
Jamm'd  in  the  farthest  gorge  the  Ijarlv  may  reach, 

Where  the  grim  ScyUa  locks  the  direful  way, 

The  fierce  Chary bdis  flings  her  mangled  prey. 


BOOK    IX.  73 

XXXI. 

As  if  a  living  thing,  in  every  part 

The  vessel  groans — and  with  a  dismal  chime 

Cracks  to  the  cracking  ice ;  asunder  start 

The  brazen  ribs : — and,  clogg'd  and  freezing,  climb 

Thro'  cleft  and  chink,  as  thro'  their  native  caves, 

The  gelid  armies  of  the  hardening  waves. 

XXXII. 

One  sigh  whose  lofty  pity  did  embrace 
The  vanish'd  many,  the  surviving  few, 

The  Cymrian  gave — then  with  a  cheering  face 
He  spoke,  and  breathed  his  soul  into  the  crew, 

"  Ye  whom  the  hauglit  desire  of  Fame,  whose  air 

Is  storm, — and  tales  of  what  your  fathers  were, 

XXXIII. 

"  What  time  their  valour  wrought  such  deeds  below 
As  made  the  vaUant  lift  them  to  the  gods. 

Impeird  with  me  to  spare  all  meaner  foe. 

And  vanquish  Nature  in  the  fiend's  abodes ; — 

Droop  not  nor  faint,  ye  who  survive,  to  give 

Themes  to  such  song  as  bids  your  Odin  live, 

XXXIV. 

"  And  to  preserve  from  the  oblivious  sea 
What  it  in  vain  engulfs ; — for  all  that  life, 

When  noble,  lives  for  is  the  memory ! 

The  wave  hath  pluck'd  us  from  the  monster  strife, 

Lo  where  the  icebay  frees  us  from  the  wave, 

And  yields  a  port  in  what  we  deemed  a  grave ! 


74  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXXV. 

"  Up  and  at  work  all  hands  to  lash  the  bark 
With  grappling  hook,  and  cord,  and  iron  band 

To  yon  firm  peak,  the  Ararat  of  our  ark. 

Then  with  good  heart  pierce  to  the  vapour-land ; 

For  the  crane's  scream,  and  the  bear's  welcome  roar 

Tell  where  the  wave  joins  solid  to  the  shore." 

XXXVT. 

Swift  as  he  spoke,  the  gallant  Northmen  sprang 
On  the  sharp  ice, — drew  from  the  frozen  blocks 

The  mangled  wreck; — with  many  a  barbed  fang 
And  twisted  cable  to  the  horrent  rocks 

Moor'd :  and  then,  shouting  up  the  solitude, 

Their  guiding  star,  the  Dove's  pale  wing,  pursued. 

XXXVII. 

Well  had  divined  the  King, — -as  on  they  glide, 
They  see  the  silvery  Arctic  fox  at  play. 

Sure  sign  of  land, — and,  scattering  wild  and  wide, 
Clamor  the  sea  gulls,  luring  to  his  prey 

The  ravening  glaucus*  sudden  shooting  o'er 

The  din  of  wings  from  the  gray  gleaming  shore. 

XXXVIII. 

At  length  they  reach  the  land, — if  land  that  be 
Which  seems  so  like  the  frost  piles  of  the  deep, 

That  where  commenced  the  soil  and  ceased  the  sea, 
Shows  dim  as  is  the  bound  between  the  sleep 

And  waking  of  some  wretch  whose  palsied  brain 

Dulls  him  to  even  the  slow  return  of  pain. 

♦  The  Larus  Glauciis,  the  great  bird  of  proy  in  the  Polar  regions. 


BOOK    IX.  75 

XXXIX, 

Advancing  farther,  burst  upon  the  eye 

Patches  of  green  miraculously  isled 
In  the  white  desert.     Oh!  the  rapture  cry 

That  greeted  God  and  gladdened  thro'  the  wild ! 
The  very  sight  suffices  to  restore,  [more ! 

Green  Earth — green  Earth — the  Mother,  smiles  once 

XL. 

Blithe  from  the  turf  the  Dove  the  blessed  leaves* 
That  heal  the  slow  plague  of  the  sunless  dearth 

Bears  to  each  sufferer  whom  the  curse  bereaves 
Even  of  all  hope,  save  graves  in  that  dear  earth. 

Woo'd  by  the  kindly  King  they  taste,  to  know 

How  to  each  ill  God  plants  a  cure  below. 

XLI.  m 

Long  mused  the  anxious  hero,  if  to  dare 

Once  more  the  fearful  sea — or  from  the  bark 

Shape  rugged  huts,  and  wait,  slow-lingering  there, 
Till  Eos  issuing  from  the  gates  of  Dark 

Unlock  the  main  ?  dread  choice  on  either  hand — 

The  liquid  Acheron,  or  the  Stygian  land. 

XLII.  ^, 

At  length,  resolved  to  seize  the  refuge  given. 
Once  more  he  leads  the  sturdiest  of  the  crew 

Back  to  the  wreck — the  planks,  asunder  riven. 
And  such  scant  stores  as  yet  the  living  few 

May  for  new  woes  sustain,  are  shoreward  borne ; 

And  hasty  axes  shape  the  homes  forlorn. 

*  Herbs  which  act  as  the  antidotes  to  the  scurvy  (the  cochlearia,  &c.)  are  found 
under  the  snows,  when  all  other  vegetation  seems  to  cease. 


76  KING    ARTHUR. 

XLIII. 

Now,  every  cliink  closed  on  the  deathful  air, 
In  the  dark  cells  the  weary  labourers  sleep ; 

Deaf  to  the  fierce  roar  of  the  hungering  bear, 
And  the  dull  thunders  clanging  on  the  deep — 

Till  on  their  waking  sense  the  discords  peel. 

And  to  the  numb  hand  cleaves  unfelt  the  steel. 

XLIV. 

What  boots  long  told  the  tale  of  life  one  war 

With  the  relentless  iron  Element  ? 
More,  day  by  day,  the  mounting  snows  debar 

Ev'n  search  for  food, — yet  oft  the  human  scent 
Lures  the  wild  beast,  which,  mangling  while  it  dies. 
Bursts  on  the  prey,  to  fall  itself  the  prize ! 

XLV. 

But  as  the  winter  deepens,  ev'n  the  beast 

Shrinks  from  its  breath,  and  with  the  loneliness 

To  Famine  leaves  the  solitary  feast. 

Suffering  halts  patient  in  its  last  excess. 

Closed  in  each  fireless,  lightless,  foodless  cave 

Cowers  a  dumb  ghost  unconscious  of  its  grave. 

XLVI. 

Nature  hath  stricken  down  in  that  waste  world 
All — save  the  Soul  of  Arthur  !      That,  sublime, 

Hung  on  the  wings  of  heavenward  faith  unfurl'd, 
O'er  the  far  light  of  the  predicted  Time ; 

Believe  thou  hast  a  mission  to  fulfil. 

And  human  valour  grows  a  Godhead's  will ! 


BOOK    IX.  77 

XLVII. 

Calm  to  that  fate  above  the  moment  given 
Shall  thy  strong  soul  divinely  dreaming  go, 

Unconscious  as  an  eagle,  entering  heaven, 

Where  its  still  shadow  skims  the  rocks  below. 

High  beyond  this,  its  actual  world  is  wrought, 

And  its  true  life  is  in  iis  sphere  of  thought. 

XL  VIII. 

Yet  who  can  'scape  the  infection  of  the  heart  ? 

Who,  tho'  himself  invulnerably  steel'd, 
Can  boast  a  breast  indiiferent  to  the  dart 

That  threats  the  life  his  love  in  vain  would  shield  ? 
When  some  large  nature,  curious  we  behold 
How  twofold  comes  it  from  the  glorious  mould ! 

XLIX. 

How  lone,  and  yet  how  living  in  the  All ! 

While  it  imagines  how  aloof  from  men ! 
How  like  the  ancestral  Adam  ere  the  fall. 

In  Eden  bowers  the  painless  denizen ! 
But  when  it  feels — the  lonely  heaven  resign'd — 
How  social  moves  the  man  among  mankind ! 

L. 

Forth  from  the  tomblike  hamlet  strays  the  King, 
Restless  with  ills  from  which  himself  is  free ; 

In  that  dun  air  the  only  living  thing, 

He  skirts  the  margin  of  the  soundless  sea ; 

No — not  alone,  the  musing  Wanderer  strays; 

For  still  the  Dove  smiles  on  the  dismal  ways. 

VOL.  II.  6 


78  KING    ARTHUR. 

LI. 

Nor  can  tongue  tell,  nor  tliouglit  conceive  how  far 
Into  that  storm-beat  heart,  the  gentle  bird 

Had  built  the  halcyon's  nest.     How  precious  are 
In  desolate  hours,  the  Affections ! — How  (unheard 

Mid  Noon's  melodious  myriads  of  delight) 

Thrills  the  lone  note  that  steals  the  gloom  from  night ! 

LII. 

And,  in  return,  a  human  love  replying 

To  his  caress,  seem'd  in  those  eyes  to  dwell, 

That  mellow  murmur,  like  a  human  sighing, 

Seemed  from  those  founts  that  lie  i'  the  heart  to  swell. 

Love  wants  not  speech ;  from  silence  speech  it  builds, 

Kindness  like  light  speaks  in  the  air  it  gilds. 

LIII. 

That  angel  guide  !     His  fate  while  leading  on, 
It  followed  each  quick  movement  of  his  soul. 

As  the  soft  shadow  from  the  setting  sun 
Precedes  the  splendour  passing  to  its  goal, 

Before  his  path  the  gentle  herald  glides, 

Its  life  reflected  from  the  life  it  guides. 

LIV. 

Was  Arthur  sad  ?  how  sadden'd  seemed  the  Dove  ! 

Did  Arthur  hope  ?  how  gaily  soared  its  wings ! 
Like  to  that  sister  spirit  left  above. 

The  half  of  ours,  which,  torn  asunder,  springs 
Ever  thro'  space,  yearning  to  join  once  more 
The  earthlier  half,  its  own  and  Heaven's  before  ;* 

*   In  allusion  to  the  Platonic  fancy,  that  love  is  the  yearning  of  the  soul  for  the 
twin  soul  with  which  it  was  united  in  a  former  existence,  and  which  it  instinctively 


BOOK    IX.  79 

LV. 

Like  an  embodied  living  Sympathy 

Wiiicli  hath  no  voice  and  yet  replies  to  all 

That  wakes  the  lightest  smile,  the  faintest  sigh, — 
So  did  the  instinct  and  the  mystery  thrall 

To  the  earth's  son  the  daughter  of  the  air ; 

And  pierce  his  soul — to  place  the  sister  there. 

LVI. 

She  was  to  him  as  to  the  bard  his  muse, 

The  solace  of  a  sweet  confessional.; 
The  hopes — the  fears  which  manlj^  lips  refuse 

To  speak  to  man, — those  leaves  of  thought  that  fall 
With  every  tremulous  zephyr  from  the  Tree 
Of  Life,  whirl'd  from  us  down  the  darksome  sea ; — 

LVII. 

Those  hourly  springs  and  winters  of  the  heart 

Weak  to  reveal  to  Reason's  sober  eye, 
The  proudest  yet  will  to  the  muse  impart 

And  grave  in  song  the  record  of  a  sigh. 
And  hath  the  muse  no  symbol  in  the  Dove  ? — 
Both  give  what  youth  most  miss'd  in  human  love ! 

Lviir. 

Over  the  world  of  winter  strays  the  King, 

Seeking  some  track  of  hope — some  savage  prey 

Which,  famish'd,  fronts  and  feeds  the  famishing; 
Or  some  dim  outlet  in  the  darkling  way 

From  the  dumb  grave  of  snows  which  form  with  snows 

Wastes  Avide  as  realms  thro'  which  a  spectre  goes. 

recognises  below.     Schiller,  in  one  of  his  earlier  poems,  has  enlarged  on  this  iJca 
with  earnest  feeling  and  vigorous  fancy. 


80  K I N  G     A  R  T  H  U  R. 

LIX. 

Amazed  he  halts  : — Lo,  on  the  rimy  layer 

That  clothes  sharp  peaks — the  print  of  human  feet! 

An  awe  thrill'd  thro'  him,  and  thus  spoke  in  prayer, 
"  Thee,  God,  in  man  once  more  then  do  I  greet  ? 

Hast  thou  vouchsafed  the  brother  to  the  brother, 

Links  which  reweave  thy  children  to  each  other  ? 

.     LX. 

"  Be  they  the  rudest  of  the  clay  divine, 

Warmed  with  the  breath  of  soul,  how  faint  so  ever, 
Yea,  tho'  their  race  but  threat  new  ills  to  mine, 

All  hail  the  bond  thy  sons  cannot  dissever ! 
Bowed  to  thy  will,  of  life  or  death  dispose, 
But  if  not  human  friends,  grant  human  foes !" 

Lxr. 

Thus  while  he  prayed,  blithe  from  his  bosom  flew 
The  guidhig  Dove,  along  the  frozen  plain 

Of  a  mute  river,  winding  vale-like  thro' 

Kocks  lost  in  vapour  from  the  voiceless  main. 

And  as  the  man  pursues,  more  thickly  seen. 

The  foot-prints  tell  where  man  before  has  been. 

Lxir. 

Sudden  a  voice — a  yell,  a  whistling  dart ! 

Dim  thro'  the  fog,  behold  a  dwarf-like  band, 
(As  from  the  inner  earth,  its  goblins,)  start ; 

Here  threatening  rush,  there  hoarsely  gibbering  stand! 
Plaits  the  firm  hero ;  mild  but  undismay'd. 
Grasps  the  charm'd  hilt,  but  shuns  to  bare  the  blade. 


BOOK    IX.  81 

LXIIT. 

And,  with  a  kingly  gesture  eloquent. 

Seems  to  command  the  peace,  not  shun  the  fray ; 
Daunted  they  back  recoil,  yet  not  relent ; 

As  Indians  round  the  forest  lord  at  bay. 
Beyond  his  reach  they  form  the  deathful  ring, 
And  every  shaft  is  fitted  to  the  string. 

LXIV. 

When  in  the  circle  a  grand  shape  appears. 
Day's  lofty  child  amid  those  dwarfs  of  Night, 

Ev'n  thro'  the  hides  of  beasts,  (its  garb)  it  rears 
The  glorious  aspect  of  a  son  of  light. 

Hush'd  at  that  presence  was  the  clamoring  crowd ; 

Dropp'd  every  hand  and  every  knee  was  bow'd. 

LXV. 

Forth  then  alone,  the  man  approached  the  King ; 

And  his  own  language  smote  the  Cymrian's  ear, 
^'  What  fates,  unhappy  one,  a  stranger  bring 

To  shores," — he  started,  stopp'd, — and  bounded  near; 
Gazed  on  that  front  august,  a  moment's  space, — 
liush'd, — lock'd  the  wanderer  in  a  long  embrace ; 

LXVT. 

Weeping  and  laughing  in  a  breath,  the  cheek. 

The  lip  he  kiss  d — then  kneeling,  clasp'd  the  hand ; 

And  gasping,  sobbing,  sought  in  vain  to  speak — 

Meanwhile  the  King  the  beard-grown  visage  scann'd  : 

Amazed — he  knew  his  Cardeul's  comely  lord, 

And  the  warm  heart  to  heart  as  warm  restored ! 


82  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXVII. 

Speech  came  at  length  :  first  iiiir:dful  of  the  lives 
Claiming  his  care  and  peril'd  for  his  sake, 

Not  vet  the  account  that  love  demands  and  srives 
The  generous  leader  paused  to  yield  and  take ; 

Brief  words  his  follower's  w^ants  and  woes  explain ; — 

"Light,  warmth,  and  food. — Satverhum"  quoth  Gawaine. 

LXVIII. 

Quick  to  his  wondering  and  Pigmgean  troops — 

Quick  sped  the  Knight; — he  spoke  and  was  obey'd; 

Vanish  once  more  the  goblin-visaged  groups 
And  soon  return  caparisoned  for  aid ; 

Laden  with  oil  to  w^arm  and  light  the  air, 

Flesh  from  the  seal,  and  mantles  from  the  bear. 

LXIX. 

Back  with  impatient  rapture  bounds  the  King, 
Smiling  as  he  was  wont  to  smile  of  yore ; 

While  Gawaine,  blithesome  as  a  bird  of  spring. 
Sends  his  sweet  laughter  ringing  to  the  shore ; 

Pams  thro'  that  maze  of  questions,  "  How  and  Why  ?" 

And  lost  in  joy  stops  never  for  reply. 

LXX. 

Before  them  roved  wild  clogs  too  numb  to  bark, 

Led  by  one  civilized  majestic  hound, 
Wlio  scarcely  deign'd  his  followers  to  remark, 

Save,  wdien  they  touch'd  him,  by  a  snarl  profound. 
Teaching  that  plebs,  as  history  may  my  readers, 
How^  curs  are  look'd  on  by  patrician  leaders. 


BOOK    IX.  ,  83 

LXXI. 

Now  gained  the  Iiuts^  silent  with  drowsy  life, 
That  scarcely  feels  the  quick  restoring  skill ; 

Trained  Avith  stern  elements  to  wage  the  strife, 
The  pigmy  race  are  Nature's  conquerors  still. 

With  practised  hands  they  chafe  the  frozen  veins, 

And  gradual  loose  the  chill  heart  from  its  chains ; 


LXXII. 

Heap  round  the  limbs  the  fur's  thick  warmth  of  fold, 
And  with  the  cheerful  oil  revive  the  air. 

Slow  wake  the  eyes  of  Famine  to  behold 
The  smiling  faces  and  the  proffered  fare ; 

Kank  tho'  the  food,  't  is  that  which  best  supplies 

The  powers  exhausted  by  the  withering  skies. 


LXXIII. 

This  done,  they  next  the  languid  sufferers  bear 

(Wrapp'd  from  the  cold)  athwart  the  vapoury  shade, 

Regain  the  vale,  and  show  the  homes  that  there 
Art's  earliest  god.  Necessity,  hath  made ; 

Abodes  hewn  out  from  winter,  winter-proof, 

Ice-blocks  the  walls,  and  hollow'd  ice  the  roof!* 


•  The  houses  of  the  Esquimaux  who  received  Captain  Lyon  were  thus  con- 
structed : — the  frozen  snow  being  formed  into  slabs  of  about  two  feet  long  and  half 
a  f'^ot  thick  ;  the  benches  were  made  with  snow,  strewed  with  twigs,  and  covered 
with  skins  ;  and  the  lamp  suspended  from  the  roof,  fed  with  seal  or  walrus  oil,  was 
the  sole  substitute  for  the  hearth,  furnished  light  and  tire  for  cooking. 

The  Esquimaux  were  known  to  the  settlers  and  pirates  of  Norway  by  the  con- 
temptuous name  of  dwarfs  or  pigmies — {Skrallings.) 


84  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXIV. 

Without,  the  snowy  lavas,  hard'ning  o'er, 

Hide  from  the  beasts  the  buried  homes  of  men, 

But  in  the  dome  is  placed  the  artful  door 

Thro'  which  the  inmate  gains  or  leaves  the  den. 

Down  thro'  the  chasm  each  lowers  the  living  load, 

Then  from  the  winter  seals  the  pent  abode. 

LXXV. 

There  ever  burns,  sole  source  of  warmth  and  light. 
The  faithful  lamp  the  whale  or  walrus  gives, 

Thus,  Lord  of  Europe,  in  the  heart  of  Night, 
Unjoyous  not,  thy  patient  brother  lives! 

To  thee  desire,  to  him  possession  sent, 

Thine  worlds  of  wishes^ — his  that  incli^  Content ! 

LXXVI. 

But  Gawaine's  home,  more  dainty  than  the  rest, 
Betray'd  his  tastes  exotic  and  luxurious, 

The  walls  of  ice  in  furry  hangings  drest 
Form'd  an  apartment  elegant  if  curious ; 

Like  some  gigantic  son  of  Major  Ursa 

Turned  inside  out  by  barbarous  vice  versa. 

LXXVII. 

Here  then  he  lodged  his  royal  guest  and  friend, 
And,  having  placed  a  slice  of  seal  before  him, 

Quoth  he,  "  Thou  ask'st  me  for  my  tale,  attend ; 
Then  give  me  thine,  lieus  renovo  doloremr 

Therewith  the  usage  villainous  and  rough, 

Schemed  in  cold  blood  by  that  malignant  chough; 


BOOK    IX.  85. 

LXXVIII.  ■         '  i. 

The  fraudful  dinner  (its  dessert  a  wife ;) 
The  bridal  roof  with  nose-assaulting  glaive  ; 

The  oak  whose  leaves  with  pinching  imps  were  rife ; 
The  atrocious  trap  into  the  Viking's  cave ; 

The  chief  obdurate  in  his  damn'd  idea, 

Of  proving  Freedom  by  a  roast  to  Freya ; 

LXXIX. 

The  graphic  portrait  of  the  Nuptial  goddess; 

And  diabolic  if  symbolic  spit ; 
The  hierarch's  heresy  on  types  and  bodies ; 

And  how  at  last  he  jDosed  and  silenced  it ; 
All  facts  traced  clearly  to  that  corvus  niger, 
Were  told  with  pathos  that  had  touch'd  a  tiger. 

LXXX. 

So  far  the  gentle  sympathizing  Nine 

In  dulcet  strains  have  sung  Sir  Gawaine's  woes ; 
What  now  remains  they  bid  the  historic  line 

With  Dorian  dryness  unadorned  disclose ; 
So  counsel  all  the  powers  of  fancy  stretch, 
Then  leave  the  judge  to  finish  ofi'  the  wretch ! 

LXXXI. 

Along  the  beach  Sir  Gawaine  and  the  hound 
Roved  all  the  night,  and  at  the  dawn  of  day 

Came  unawares  upon  a  squadron  bound 
To  fish  for  whales,  arrested  in  a  bay 

For  want  of  winds,  which  certain  Norwav  has-s 

Had  squeezed  from  heaven  and  bottled  up  in  bags.* 

*  A  well-known  popular  superstition,  not  perhaps  quite  extinct  at  this  day, 
amongst  the  Baltic  mariners. 


86  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXXII. 

Straight  wlien  the  seamen,  fretting  on  the  shore. 
Behold  a  wanderer  chad  as  Freya's  priest, 

They  rush,  and  round  him  kneehng,  they  imj^lore    ^ 
The  runes,  by  which  the  winds  may  be  releast : 

The  spurious  priest  a  gracious  answer  made, 

And  told  them  Freya  sent  him  to  their  aid ; 

LXXXIII. 

Bade  them  conduct  himself  and  hound  on  board, 
And  broil  two  portions  of  their  choicest  meat. 

"  The  spell,"  quoth  he,  "  our  sacred  arts  afford 
To  free  the  wdnd,  is  in  the  food  we  eat ; 

We  dine,  and  dining  exorcise  the  witches. 

And  loose  the  bags  from  their  infernal  stitches. 

LXXXIV. 

'^  Haste  then,  my  children,  and  dispel  the  wind ; 

Haste,  for  the  bags  are  awfully  inflating !" 
The  ship  is  gain'd.     Both  priest  and  dog  have  dined ; 

The  crews  assembled  on  the  decks  are  waiting. 
A  heavier  man  arose  the  audacious  priest 
And  stately  stepp'd  he  west  and  stately  east ! 

LXXXV. 

Mutely  invoked  St.  David  and  St.  Bran 

To  charge  a  stout  north-western  with  their  blessing ; 
Then  cleared  his  throat  and  lustily  began 

A  hoAvl  of  vowels  huge  from  Taliessin. 
Prone  fell  the  crew^s  before  the  thunderino:  tunes. 
In  words  like  mountains  roll'd  the  enormous  runes ! 


BOOK    IX.  87 

LXXXVI. 

The  excited  hound,  symphonious  with  the  song, 
Yell'd  as  if  heaven  and  earth  were  rent  asunder ; 

The  rocks  Orphean  seemed  to  dance  along ; 

The  affrighted  whales  plunged  waves  affrighted  under ; 

Polyphlosboian,  onwards  booming  bore 

The  deaf 'ning,  strident,  rauque,  Homeric  roar ! 

LXXXVII. 

As  lions  lash  themselves  to  louder  ire, 

By  his  own  song  the  knight  sublimely  stung 

Caught  the  full  oestro  of  the  poet's  fire, 

And  grew  more  stunning  every  note  he  sung ! 

In  each  dread  blast  a  patriot's  soul  exhales, 

And  Norway  quakes  before  the  storm  of  Wales. 

LXXXVIII. 

Whether,  as  grateful  Cymri  should  believe, 
That  blatant  voice  heroic  burst  the  bags, 

(For  sure  it  might  the  caves  of  Boreas  cleave 
Much  more  the  stitch  work  of  such  losel  haa's  ! 

Or  heaven,  on  any  terms,  resolved  on  peace ; 

The  wind  sprung  up  before  the  Knight  would  cease. 

LXXXIX. 

Never  again  hath  singer  heard  such  praise 

As  Gawaine  heard ;  for  never  since  hath  song 

Found  out  the  secret  how  the  wind  to  raise  ! — 
Around  the  charmer  now  the  seamen  throng. 

And  bribe  his  best  attendance  on  their  toil. 

With  bales  of  bear  skin  and  with  tuns  of  oil. 


88  KING    ARTHUR. 

xr. 

Well  pleased  to  leave  the  inhospitable  shores, 
The  artful  Knight  yet  slowly  seemed  to  yield. — 

Now  thro'  the  ocean  plunge  the  brazen  prores ; 
They  pass  the  threshold  of  the  world  congeal'd; 

Surprise  the  snorting  mammoths  of  the  main ; 

And  ]3ile  the  decks  with  Pelions  of  the  slain. 

xei. 
When,  in  the  midmost  harvest  of  the  spoil, 

Pounce  comes  a  storm  unspeakably  more  hideous 
Than  that  wliich  drove  upon  the  Lybian  soil 

Anchises'  son,  the  pious  and  perfidious. 
When  whooping  Notus,  as  the  Nine  assure  us, 
Rush'd  out  to  play  with  Africus  and  Eurus. 

XCII. 

Torn  each  from  each,  or  down  the  maelstrom  whirl'd. 
Or  grasp'd  and  gulph'd  by  the  devouring  sea, 

Or  on  the  ribs  of  hurrying  icebergs  hurl'd, 
The  sundered  vessels  vanish  momently. 

Scarce  thro'  the  blasts  which  swept  his  own,  Gawaine 

Heard  the  crew  shrieking  "  Chaunt  the  runes  again !" 

xciir. 
Far  other  thoughts  engaged  the  prescient  knight, 

Fast  to  a  plank  he  lash'd  himself  and  hound ; 
Scarce  done,  than,  presto,  shooting  out  of  sight, 

The  enormous  eddy  spun  him  round  and  round, 
Along  the  deck  a  monstrous  wave  had  pour'd, 
Caught  up  the  plank  and  tossed  it  overboard. 


BOOK    IX.  89 

xciv. 

What  of  the  ship  became,  saith  history  not. 

What  of  the  man — the  man  himself  shall  show. 

"  Like  stone  from  sling,"  quoth  Gawaine,  "  I  was  shot 
Into  a  ridge  of  what  they  call  a  ^oe,* 

There  much  amazed,  but  rescued  from  the  waters, 

Myself  and  hound  took  up  our  frigid  quarters. 

xcv. 
"  Freed  from  the  plank,  drench'd,  spluttering,  stunn'd, 
and  bruised, 
We  peer'd  about  us  on  the  sweltering  deep. 
And  seeing  nought,  and  being  much  confused, 

Crept  side  by  side  and  nestled  into  sleep. 
The  nearest  kindred  most  avoid  each  other. 
So  to  shun  Death,  we  visited  his  brother. 

XCVI. 

"  Awaked  at  last,  we  found  the  weaves  had  stranded 
A  store  of  waifs  portentous  and  nefarious ; 

Here  a  dead  whale  was  at  my  elbow  landed, 
There  a  sick  polypus,  that  sea-Briareus, 

Stretch'd  out  its  claws  to  incorporate  my  corpus ; 

While  howl'd  the  hound  half  buried  by  a  porpoise  ! 

XCVII. 

"  Nimbly  I  rose,  disporpoising  my  friend ; — 
Around  me  scattered  lay  more  piteous  wrecks. 

With  every  wave  the  accursed  Tritons  send 
Some  sad  memento  of  submergent  decks. 

Prows,  rudders,  casks,  ropes,  blubber,  hides,  and  hooks. 

Sailors,  salt  beef,  tubs,  cabin  boys,  and  cooks. 

*  The  smaller  kind  of  ice  field  is  called  by  the  northern  whale  fishers,  '  a  floe,'— 
the  name  is  probably  of  very  ancient  date. 


90  KING     ARTHUR. 

XCVIII. 

^^Graves  on  the  dead,  with  pious  care  bestowed, 
(Graves  in  the  ice  hewn  out  with  mickle  pain 

By  axe  and  bill,  which  with  the  waifs  had  tlowed 
To  that  strange  shore)  I  next  collect  the  gain  -, 

Placed  in  a  hollow  cleft- — and  covered  o'er ; — 

Then  knight  and  hound  proceeded  to  explore. 

XCIX. 

^'  Far  had  we  wandered,  for  the  storm  had  joined 
To  a  great  isle  of  ice,  our  friend  the  floe^ 

When  as  the  day  (three  hours  its  length !)  declined. 
Out  bray'd  a  roar;  I  stared  around,  and  lo 

A  flight  of  dwarfs  about  the  size  of  sea-moths. 

Chased  by  two  bears  that  might  have  eat  behemoths ! 

c. 

''  Armed  with  the  axe  the  Tritons  had  ejected, 
I  rush'd  to  succour  the  Pigmasan  nation. 

In  strife  our  valour,  I  have  oft  suspected, 
Proportions  safety  to  intoxication. 

As  drunken  men  securely  walk  on  walls 

From  which  the  wretch  who  keeps  his  senses  falls; 

CI. 

"  The  blood  mounts  up,  suffuses  sight  and  brain ; 

The  Hercles  vein  herculeanates  the  form ; 
The  rill  when  swollen  swallows  up  a  plain. 

The  breeze  runs  mad  before  it  blows  a  storm, 
To  do  great  deeds,  first  lose  your  wits, — then  do  them  ! 
In  fine — I  burst  upon  the  bears,  and  slew  them ! 


BOOK    IX.  91 

CII. 

^'  The  dwarfs,  delivered,  kneel,  and  pull  their  noses  f- 
In  tugs  which  mean  to  say  the  ^  Pigmy  Nation 

A  vote  of  thanks  respectfully  proposes 
From  all  the  noses  of  the  corporation !' 

Your  Highness  knows  '  Magister  Artis  Vender  /' 

On  signs  for  breakfast  my  replies  concenter ! 

cm. 
"  Quick  they  conceived,  and  quick  obey ;  the  beasts 

Are  skinn'd,  and  drawn,  and  quartered  in  a  trice, 
But  Vulcan  leaves  Diana  to  the  feasts. 

And  not  a  wood-nymph  consecrates  the  ice — 
Bear  is  but  so-so,  when  't  is  cook'd  the  best. 
But  bear  just  skinn'd  and  perfectly  undrest! 

CIV. 

"  Then  I  bethink  me  of  the  planks  and  casks 
Stowed  in  the  cleft — for  fuel  quantum  suff: 

I  draw  the  dwarfs — sore  chattering,  from  their  tasks, 
Choose  out  the  morsels  least  obdurely  tough ; 

With  these  I  load  the  Pigmies — bid  them  follow — 

Regain  the  haven,  and  review  the  hollow. 

cv. 

^'  But  when  those  minnow-men  beheld  the  whale 

It  really  was  a  spectacle  affecting ; 
They  shout,  they  sob,  they  leap — -embrace  the  tail, 

Peep  in  the  jaws;  then,  round  me  re-collecting. 
Draw  forth  those  noselings  from  their  hiding  places, 
Which  serve  as  public  speakers  to  their  faces ! 

•  A  salutatioa  still  in  vogue  among  certain  tribes  of  the  Esquimaux. 


92  KING     ARTHUR. 

cvi. 
^^  While  I  revolve  wliat  this  Stalute  may  mean, 

They  rush  once  more  upon  the  poor  balsena, 
Clutch — rend — gnaw — bolt  the  blubber ;  but  the  lean 

Reject  as  drying  to  the  duodena ! 
This  done, — my  broil  they  aid  me  to  obtain, 
And,  while  I  eat — the  noses  go  again ! 

CVII. 

^'  My  tale  is  closed — the  grateful  pigmies  lead 
Myself  and  hound  across  the  ice  defiles ; 

Regain  their  people  and  recite  my  deed. 

Describe  the  monsters  and  display  the  spoils ; 

With  royal  rank  my  feats  the  dwarfs  repay, 

And  build  the  palace  which  you  now  survey ! 

CVIII. 

"  The  vanquish'd  bears  are  troj^hied  on  the  wall ; 

The  oil  you  scent  once  floated  in  the  whale ; 
I  had  a  vision  to  illume  the  hall 

With  lights  less  fragrant, — human  hopes  are  frail  1 
With  cares  ingenious  from  the  bruins'  fat, 
I  made  some  candles, — which  the  ladies  ate ! 

cix. 

"  'T  is  now  your  turn  to  tell  the  tale.  Sir  King, — 
And  by  the  way  our  Comrade,  Lancelot  ? 

I  hope  he  found  a  raven  in  the  ring! 

Monstrum  liorrendiira  I — Sire,  I  question  not 

That  in  your  justice  you  have  heard  enough 

When  we  get  home — to  crucify  that  chough !" 


BOOK     IX.  93 

ex. 

"  Gawaine,"  said  Arthur,  with  his  sunny  smile, 
"  Methinks  thy  heart  will  soon  absolve  the  raven, 

Thy  friend  had  perished  in  this  icy  isle 
But  for  thy  voyage  to  the  Viking's  haven, 

In  every  ill  which  gives  thee  such  offence, 

Thou  see'st  the  raven,  I  the  Providence !" 

CXI. 

The  knight  reluctant  shook  his  learned  head ; 

"  So  please  you,  Sire,  you  cannot  find  a  thief 
Who  picks  our  pouch,  but  Providence  hath  led 

His  steps  to  pick  it ; — yet  to  my  belief. 
There's  not  a  judge  who'd  scruple  to  exhibit 
That  proof  of  Providence  upon  a  gibbet ! 

CXII. 

'^  The  chough  was  sent  by  Providence  : — Agreed  : 
We  send  the  chough  to  Providence,  in  turn  ! 

Yet  in  the  hound  and  not  the  chough,  indeed, 
Your  friendly  sight  should  Providence  discern ; 

For  had  the  hound  been  just  a  whit  less  nimble. 

Thanks  to  the  chough,  your  friend  had  been  a  symbol !" 

CXIII. 

''  Thy  logic,"  answered  Arthur,  ^'  is  unsound. 

But  for  the  chou2;h  thou  never  had'st  been  married  ; 
But  for  the  wife  thou  ne'er  hadst  seen  the  hound  ; — 


The  Ah  initio  to  the  chough  is  carried : 
The  hound  is  but  the  effect — the  chough  the  cause," 
The  generous  Gawaine  murmured  his  applause. 

VOL.  II.  7 


94  KING    ARTHUR. 

cxiv. 

"Do  veniam  Gorvo!  Sire,  the  chough  's  acquitted!" 
"  For  Lancelot  next,"  quoth  Arthur,  "  be  at  ease, 

The  task  fulfiU'cI  to  which  he  was  permitted, 
The  ring  veered  home — I  left  him  on  the  seas. 

Ere  this,  he  sure  he  hails  the  Cjmrian  shore. 

And  gives  to  Carduel  one  great  bulwark  more." 

cxv. 

Then  Arthur  told  of  fair  Genevra  flying 

From  the  scorn'd  nuptials  of  the  heathen  fane ; 

Her  runic  J^ark  to  his  emprize  supplying 

The  steed  that  bore  him  to  the  Northern  main ; 

While  she  with  cheek  that  blush'd  the  prayer  to  tell, 

Implored  a  Christian's  home  in  Carduel. 

CXVI. 

The  gentle  King  well  versed  in  woman's  heart, 
And  all  the  vestal  thoughts  that  tend  its  shrine, 

On  Lancelot  smiled — and  answered,  "  Maid,  depart ; 
Though  o'er  our  roofs  the  thunder  clouds  combine, 

Yet  love  shall  guard,  whatever  war  betide, 

The  Saxon's  daughter — or  the  Cymrian's  bride." 

CXVII. 

A  stately  ship  from  glittering  Spezia  bore 
To  Cymrian  ports  the  lovers  from  the  King; 

Then  on,  the  Seeker  of  the  Shield,  once  more, 
With  patient  soul  pursued  the  heavenly  wing. 

Wild  tho'  that  crew,  his  heart  enthralls  their  own ; 

The  great  are  kings  wherever  they  are  thrown. 


BOOK    IX.  -  95 

CXVIIT. 

Nought  of  that  mystery  which  the  Spirit's  priest, 
True  love,  draws  round  the  aisles  behind  the  veil, 

Could  Arthur  bare  to  that  light  joyous  breast, — 
Life  hath  its  inward  as  its  outward  tale. 

Our  lips  reveal  our  deeds, — our  sufferings  shun  ; 

What  wx  have  felt,  how  few  can  tell  to  one ! 

CXIX. 

The  triple  task — the  sword  not  sought  in  vain, 
The  shield  yet  hidden  in  the  caves  of  Lok, 

Of  these  spoke  Arthur, — "  Certes,"  quoth  Gawaine, 
When  the  King  ceased — "  strange  legends  of  a  rock 

Where  a  fierce  Dwarf  doth  guard  a  shield  of  light. 

Oft  have  I  heard  my  pigmy  friends  recite ; 

cxx. 

"  Permit  me  now  your  royal  limbs  to  wrap. 
In  these  warm  relicts  of  departed  bears ; 

And  while  from  Morpheus  you  decoy  a  nap. 
My  skill  the  grain  shall  gather  from  the  tares. 

The  pigmy  tongue  my  erudite  pursuits 

Have  traced  acZ  unguem  to  the  nasal  roots !" 

CXXT. 

Slumbers  the  King — slumber  his  ghastly  crew ; 

How  long  they  know  not,  guess  not — night  and  dawn 
Long  since  commingled  in  one  livid  hue ; 

Like  that  long  twilight  o'er  the  portals  drawn, 
Behind  wdiose  threshold  spreads  eternity ! — 
When  the  sleep  burst,  and  sudden  in  the  sky 


96  KING     ARTHUR. 

CXXII. 

Stands  the  great  Sun  ! — As,  on  the  desperate, — Hope, 
As  Glory  o'er  the  dead, — as  Freedom  on 

Men  who  snap  chains ;  or  Ukest  Truths  that  ope 
Life,  in  God's  word,  on  charnels, — stands  the  Sun  ! 

Ice  still  on  earth — still  vapour  in  the  air. 

But  Light — the  victor  Lord — hut  Light  is  there  ! 

CXXIII. 

On  siege- worn  cities,  when  their  war  is  spent, 
From  the  far  hill  as,  gleam  on  gleam,  arise 

The  spears  of  some  great  aiding  armament — 

Grow  the  dim  splendours,  broadening  up  the  skies, 

Till  bright  and  brighter,  the  sublime  array 

Flings  o'er  the  world  the  banners  of  the  Day ! 

cxxiv. 
Behold  them  where  they  kneel !  the  starry  King, 

The  dwarfs  of  night,  the  giants  of  the  sea ! 
Each  with  the  other  link'd  in  solemn  ring, 

Too  blest  for  words  ! — Man's  sever'd  Family, 
All  made  akin  once  more  beneath  those  eyes 
Which  on  their  Father  smiled  in  Paradise ! 


V. 


KING    ARTHUR. 


BOOK   X. 


ARGUMENT. 

The  Polar  Spring ;  The  Boreal  Lights  ;  and  apparition  of  a  double  sun  ; 
The  Rocky  Isle  ;  The  Bears  ;  The  mysterious  Shadow  from  the  Crater 
of  the  extinct  Volcano  ;  The  Bears  scent  the  steps  of  Man :  their  move- 
ments described ;  Arthur's  approach ;  The  Bears  emerge  from  their 
covert;  The  Shadow  takes  form  and  life;  The  Demon  Dwarf  described  ; 
His  parley  with  Arthur ;  The  King  follows  the  Dwarf  into  the  interior 
of  the  volcanic  rock ;  The  Antediluvian  Skeletons ;  The  Troll-Fiends, 
and  their  tasks ;  Arthur  arrives  at  the  Cave  of  Lok  ;  The  Corpses  of  the 
armed  Giants  ;  The  Yalkyrs  at  their  loom ;  The  Wars  that  they  weave ; 
The  Dwarf  addresses  Arthur ;  The  King's  fear ;  He  approaches  the 
sleeping  Fiend,  and  the  curtains  close  around  him;  Meanwhile  Gawaine 
and  the  Norwegians  have  tracked  Artliur's  steps  on  the  snow,  and  ar- 
rive at  the  Isle  ;  Are  attacked  by  the  Bears;  The  noises  and  eruption 
from  the  Volcano;  The  re-appearance  of  Arthur;  TKe  change  in  him  ; 
Freedom,  and  its  characteristics ;  Arthur  and  his  band  renew  their  way 
along  the  coast;  ships  are  seen;  How  Arthur  obtains  a  bark  from  the 
Rugen  Chieftain ;  and  how  Gawaine  stores  it ;  The  Dove  now  leads 
homeward ;  Arthur  reaches  England ;  and,  sailing  up  a  river,  enters 
the  Mercian  territory ;  He  follows  the  Dove  through  a  forest  to  the  ruins 
built  by  the  earliest  Cimmerians ;  The  wisdom  and  civilization  of  the 
ancestral  Druidical  races,  as  compared  with  their  idolatrous  successors 
at  the  time  of  the  Roman  Conquerors,  whose  remains  alone  are  left  to 
our  age  ;  Arthur  lies  doAvn  to  rest  amidst  the  moonlit  ruins  ;  The  Dove 
vanishes;  The  nameless  horror  that  seizes  the  King. 


BOOK     X. 


I. 

Spring  on  the  Polar  Seas ! — not  violet-crown'd 

By  dewy  Hours,  nor  to  cerulean  halls 
Melodious  hymn'd,  yet  Light  itself  around 

Her  stately  path,  sheds  starry  coronels. 
Sublime  she  comes,  as  when,  from  Dis  set  free, 
Came,  through  the  flash  of  Jove,  Persephone  : 

II. 

She  comes — that  grand  Aurora  of  the  North  ! 

By  steeds  of  fire  her  glorious  chariot  borne, 
From  Boreal  courts  the  meteors  flaming  forth, 

Ope  heav'n  on  heav'n,  before  the  mighty  Morn. 
And  round  the  rebel  giants  of  the  Night 
On  Earth's  last  confines  burst  the  storm  of  Light. 

III. 
Wonder  and  awe !  lo,  where  against  the  Sun 

A  second  Sun*  his  lurid  front  uprears  ! 
As  if  the  first-born  lost  Hyperion, 

Hurl'd  down  of  old,  from  his  Uranian  spheres, 
Kose  from  the  hell-rocks  on  his  writhings  pil'd, 
And  glared  defiance  on  his  Titan  child. 

•  The  apparition  of  two  or  more  suns  in  the  polar  firmament  is  well  known. 
Mr.  Ellis  saw  six — they  are  most  brilliant  at  day-b'-eak — and  though  diminished  in 
splendour  are  still  Visible  even  after  the  appearance  of  the  real  sua. 


100  KING    ARTHUR. 

IV. 

Now  life,  the  polar  life,  returns  once  more, 
The  reindeer  roots  his  mosses  from  the  snows ; 

The  whirring  sea-gulls  shriek  along  the  shore ; 
Thro'  oozing  rills  the  cygnet  gleaming  goes ; 

And  where  the  ice  some  happier  verdure  frees, 

Laugh  into  light  frank-eyed  anemones. 

V. 

Out  from  the  seas  still  solid,  frown'd  a  lone 
Chaos  of  chasm  and  precipice  and  rock. 

There,  wdiile  the  meteors  on  their  revels  shone. 
Growling  hoarse  glee,  in  many  a  grauly*  flock, 

With  their  huge  young  the  sea-bears  sprawling  play'd 

Near  the  charr'd  crater,  some  mute  Hecla  made^ 

VI. 

Sullen  before  that  cavern's  vast  repose. 
Like  the  lorn  wrecks  of  a  despairing  race 

Chased  to  their  last  hold  by  triumphant  foes. 

Darkness  and  Horror  stood !     But  from  the  space 

Within  the  cave,  and  o'er  the  ice-ground  wan, 

Quivers  a  Shadow  vaguely  mocking  man. 

VII. 

Like  man's  the  Shadow  falls,  yet  falling  loses 
The  shape  it  took,  each  moment  changefully ; 

As  when  the  wind  on  Runic  waves  confuses 

The  weird  boughs  toss'd  from  some  prophetic  tree. 

Fantastic,  goblin-like,  and  fitful  thrown, 

Comes  the  strange  Shadow  from  the  drear  Unknown. 

•  Grauli/  atid  graiisame,  are  both  adjectives  which  belong  to  the  Saxon  clement 
of  the  language,  and  are  fairly  reclaimed  from  the  German.  The  Scotch  indeed 
have  preserved  the  first. 


BOOK    X.  101 

\iil. 

It  is  not  man's — for  they,  man's  savage  foes, 

Whose  sense  ne'er  fails  them  when  the  scent  is  blood, 

Sport  in  the  shadow  the  Unseen  One  throws. 
Nor  hush  their  young  to  sniff  the  human  food ; 

But  undisturbed  as  if  their  home  was  there, 

Pass  to  and  fro  the  light-defying  lair. 

IX. 

So  the  bears  gamboll'd,  so  the  Shadow  play'd. 

When  sudden  halts  the  uncouth  merriment. 
Now  man — in  truth,  draws  near,  man's  steps  invade 

The  men-devourers  ! — Snorting  to  the  scent, 
Lo,  where  they  stretch  dread  necks  of  shaggy  snow, 
Grin  with  w  hite  fangs,  and  greed  the  blood  to  flow ! 

X. 

Grotesquely  undulating,  moves  the  flock. 
Low  grumbling  as  the  grisly  ranks  divide ; 

Some  heave  their  slow  bulk  peering  up  the  rock, 
Some  stand  erect  and  shift  from  side  to  side 

The  keen  quick  ear,  the  red  dilating  eye, 

And  steam  the  hard  air  wdth  a  hungry  sigh. 

XI. 

At  length  unquiet  and  amazed — as  rings 

On  to  their  haunt  direct,  the  dauntless  stride. 

With  the  sharp  instinct  of  all  savage  things 
That  doubt  a  prey  by  which  they  are  defied, 

They  send  from  each  to  each  a  troubled  stare, 

And  huddle  close  suspicious  of  the  snare, 


102  KING    ARTHUR. 

XII. 

Then  a  huge  leader  with  concerted  wile, 

Creeps  lumbering  on,  and,  to  his  guidance  slow 

The  shagged  armies  move,  in  cautious  file, 
Till  one  by  one,  in  ambush  for  the  foe. 

Drops  into  chasm  and  cleft, — and  vanishing 

With  stealthy  murther  girds  the  coming  King ! 

XIII. 

He  comes, — the  Conqueror  in  the  Halls  of  Time, 
Known  by  his  silver  herald  in  the  Dove, 

By  his  imperial  tread,  and  front  sublime 

With  230wer  as  tranquil  as  the  lids  of  Jove, — 

All  shapes  of  death  the  realms  around  afford : — 

From  Fiends  God  guard  him  ! — from  all  else  his  sword ! 

XIV. 

For  he,  with  spring  the  huts  of  ice  had  left 
And  the  small  People  of  the  world  of  snows  : 

Their  food  the  seal,  their  camp  at  night,  the  cleft, 
His  bold  Norwegians  follow  where  he  goes ; 

Now  in  the  rear  afar,  their  chief  they  miss, 

And  grudge  the  danger  which  they  deem  a  bliss. 

XV. 

Ere  yet  the  meteors  from  the  morning  sky 
Chased  large  Orion, — in  the  hour  when  sleep 

Reflects  its  ghost-land  stillest  on  the  eye. 

Had  stol'n  the  lonely  King ;  and  o'er  the  deep 

Sought  by  the  clue  the  dwarfmen-legends  yield, 

And  the  Dove's  wing — the  demon-guarded  Shield. 


BOOK    X.  10 


Q 


XVI. 

The  Desert  of  the  Desolate  is  won. 

Still  lurks,  unseen,  the  ambush  horrible- 


Nought  stirs  around  beneath  the  twofold  sun 
Save  that  strange  shadow  where  before  it  fell, 
Still  falling ; — varying,  quivering  to  and  fro, 
From  the  black  cavern  on  the  glaring  snow. 

XVII. 

Slow  the  devourers  rise,  and  peer  around: 

Now  crag  and  cliff  move  dire  with  savage  life, 

And  rolling  downward, — all  the  dismal  ground 
Shakes  with  the  roar  and  bristles  with  the  strife : 

Not  unprepared — (when  ever  are  the  brave?) 

Stands  the  firm  King,  and  bares  the  diamond  glaive. 

XVill, 

Streams  in  the  meteor  fires  the  fulgent  brand. 
Lightening  along  the  air,  the  sea,  the  rock, 

Bright  as  the  arrow  in  that  heavenly  hand 

Which  slew  the  Python !     Blinded  halt  the  flock. 

And  the  great  roar,  but  now  so  rough  and  high. 

Sinks  into  terror  wailing  timidly. 

XIX. 

Yet  the  fierce  instinct  and  the  rabid  sting 
Of  famine  goad  again  the  check'd  array; 

And  close  and  closer  in  tumultuous  ring. 

Keels  on  the  death-mass  crushing  towards  its  prey. 

A  dull  groan  tells  where  first  the  falchion  sweeps — 

When  into  shape  the  cave-born  Shadow  leaps ! 


104  KING     ARTHUR. 

XX. 

Out  from  the  dark  it  leapt — the  awful  form  ! 

Manlike  but  sure  not  human  !  on  its  hair 
The  ice-barbs  bristled  :  like  a  coming  storm 

The  breath  smote  lifeless  every  wind  in  air ; 
Dread  form  deform'd,  as,  ere  the  birth  of  Light, 
Some  son  of  Chaos  and  the  Antique  Night ! 

XXI. 

At  once  a  dwarf  and  giant — trunk  and  limb 

Knit  in  gnarl'd  strength  as  by  a  monstrous  chance, 

Never  Chimera  more  grotesque  and  grim, 

Paled  Egypt's  priesthood  with  its  own  romance, 

When  from  each  dire  delirium  Fancy  knows. 

Some  Typhon-type  of  Powers  destroying  rose. 

XXII. 

At  the  dread  presence,  ice  a  double  cold 

Conceived  ;  the  meteors  from  their  dazzling  play 

Paused ;  and  appalled  into  their  azure  hold 

Shrunk  back  with  all  their  banners ;  not  a  ray 

Broke  o'er  the  dead  sea  and  the  doleful  shore, 

Winter's  steel  grasp  lock'd  the  dumb  world  once  more. 

XXIII. 

Halted  the  war — as  the  wild  multitude 

Left  the  King  scatheless,  and  their  leaders  slain; 

And  round  the  giant  dwarf  the  baleful  brood 

Came  with  low  howls  of  terror,  wrath,  and  pain. 

As  children  round  their  father.      Tliey  depart. 

But  strife  remains ;  Fear  and  the  Human  Heart ; 


BOOK    X.  ]05 

XXIV. 

For  Fear  was  on  the  bold !     Then  spoke  aloud 
The  horrent  Image.     "  Child  of  hateful  Day, 

What  madness  snares  thee  to  the  glooms  that  shroud 
The  realms  abandoned  to  my  secret  sway? 

Why  on  mine  air  first  breathes  the  human  breath  ? 

Hath  thy  far  world  no  fairer  path  to  Death  ?" 

XXV. 

"  All  ways  to  Death,  but  one  to  Glory  leads, 
That  which  alike  thro'  earth,  or  air,  or  wave, 

Bears  a  bold  thought  to  goals  in  noble  deeds," 

Said  the  pale  King.    "And  this,  methinks,  the  cave 

Which  hides  the  Shield  that  rock'd  the  sleep  of  one 

By  whom  ev'n  Fable  shows  what  deeds  were  done ! 

XXVI. 

"  I  seek  the  talisman  which  guards  the  free, 

And  tread  where  erst  the  Sire  of  freemen  trod."* 

"  Ho  !"  laugh'd  the  dwarf,  "  Walhalla's  child  was  He  ! 
Man  gluts  the  fiend  when  he  assumes  the  god." — 

"  No  god,  Deceiver,  tho'  man's  erring  creeds 

Make  gods  of  men  when  godlike  are  their  deeds ; 

XXVII. 

"And  if  the  Only  and  Eternal  One 

Hath,  ere  his  last  illuminate  Word  Reveal'd, 

Left  some  grand  Memory  on  its  airy  throne. 

Nor  smote  the  nations  when  to  names  they  kneel'd — 

It  is  that  each  false  god  was  some  great  truth ! — 

To  races  Heroes  are  as  Bards  to  j^outh !" 

•  Tiioii's  visit  to  the  realms  of  Hela  and  Lok  forms  a  pr>)mincnt  incident  in  (he 
romance  of  Scandlnavijn  mythology.     With  the  i^candinavian  branch  of  the  'I'eu- 


106  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXVIII. 

Thus  spoke  the  King,  to  whom  the  Enchanted  Lake, 
Where  from  all  sources  Wisdom  ever  springs, 

Had  given  unknown  the  subtle  powers  that  wake 
Our  Lutuitions  into  cloudiest  things, 

Won  but  by  those,  who,  after  passionate  dreams, 

Taste  the  sharp  herb  and  dare  the  solemn  streams. 

XXIX. 

The  Demon  heard ;  and  as  a  moon  that  shines, 

Rising  behind  Arcturus,  cold  and  still 
O'er  Baltic  headlands  black  with  rigid  pines, — 

So  on  his  knit  and  ominious  brows  a  chill 
And  livid  smile,  revealed  the  gloomy  night. 
To  leave  the  terror,  sterner  for  the  light. 

XXX. 

Thus  spoke  the  Dwarf,  "  Thou  would'st  survive  to  tell 
Of  trophies  wrested  from  the  halls  of  Lok, 

Yet  wherefore  singly  face  the  hosts  of  Hell  ? 
Return,  and  lead  thy  comrades  to  the  rock ; 

Never  to  one,  on  earth's  less  dreadful  field, 

The  prize  of  chiefs  do  War's  fierce  Valkyrs  yield," 

XXXI. 

"  War,"  said  the  King,  "  is  waged  on  mortal  life 
By  men  with  men : — that  dare  I  with  the  rest ; 

In  conflicts  awful  with  no  human  strife. 

Mightiest  methinks,  that  soul  the  loneliest ! 

When  starry  charms  from  Afrite's  caves  were  won. 

No  Judah  march'd  with  dauntless  Solomon !" 

Ion  family  Thor  waff  the  favourite  deity — and  it  was  natural  to  that  free  and  valiant 
i-ace  to  identify  liberty  with  war. 


h 


BOOK    X.  107 

xxxrr. 
Fell  fangs  the  demon  gnash'd,  and  o'er  the  crowd 

Wild  cumbering  round  his  feet,  with  hungry  stare 
Greeding  the  man,  his  drooping  visage  bowed ; 

"  Go  elsewhere,  sons — your  prey  escapes  the  snare  : 
Yours  but  the  food  which  flesh  to  flesh  supplies ; 
Plere  not  the  mortal  but  the  soul  defies." 

XXXIII. 

Then  striding  to  the  cave,  he  plunged  w^ithin; 

"  Follow,"  he  cried,  and  like  a  prison'd  blast 
Along  the  darkness,  the  reverberate  din, 

Roll'd  from  the  rough  sides  of  the  viewless  Yast ; 
As  goblin  echoes,  thro'  the  haunted  hollow,  ["Follow !" 
'^  Twixt  groan  and  laughter,  chim'd  hoarse-gibbering 

XXXIV. 

The  King  recoiling  paused  irresolute. 

Till  thro'  the  cave  the  white  wing  went  its  way ; 
Then  on  his  breast  he  sign'd  the  cross,  and  mute 

With  solemn  prayer,  he  left  the  world  of  day. 
Thick  stood  the  night,  save  where  the  falchion  gave 
Its  clear  sharp  glimmer  lengthening  down  the  cave. 

XXXV. 

Advancing ;  flashes  rush'd  irregular 

Like  subterranean  lightning,  fork'd  and  red : 

From  warring  matter — wandering  shot  the  star 
Of  poisonous  gases ;  and  the  tortured  bed 

Of  th'  old  Yolcano  show'd  in  trailing  fires. 

Where  the  numb'd  serpent  dragged  its  mangled  spires. 


108  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXXVI. 

Broader  and  ruddier  on  the  Dove's  pale  wings 
Now  glowed  the  lava  of  the  widening  spaces ; 

Grinn'd  from  the  rock  the  jaws  of  giant  things. 
The  lurid  skeletons  of  vanished  races, 

Thej  who,  perchance  ere  man  himself  had  birth, 

Kuled  the  moist  slime  of  uncompleted  earth. 

XXXVII. 

Enormous  couch'd  fang'd  Iguanodon,* 
To  which  the  monster-lizard  of  the  Nile 

Were  prey  too  small, — whose  dismal  haunts  were  on 
The  swamps  where  now  such  golden  harvest  smile 

As  had  sufficed  those  myriad  hosts  to  feed 

Yv^hen  all  the  Orient  march'd  behind  the  Mede. 

XXXVIII, 

There  the  foul,  earliest  reptile  spectra  lay, 
Distinct  as  when  the  chaos  was  their  home ; 

Half  plant,  half  serpent,  some  subside  away 

Into  gnarl'd  roots  (now  stone) — more  hideous  some 

Half  bird — half  fish — seem  struggling  yet  to  spring, 

Shark-like  the  maw,  and  dragon-like  the  wing. 

XXXIX. 

But,  life-like  more,  from  later  layers  emerge 

With  their  fell  tusks  deep-stricken  in  the  stone, 

Herds,f  that  thro'  all  the  thunders  of  the  surge, 
Had  to  the  Ark  which  swept  relentless  on 

(Denied  to  them) — knell'd  the  despairing  roar 

Of  sentenced  races  time  shall  know  no  more. 

*  Uii.  Mantkll,  in  his  IVonders  nf  Grolngij,  computes  (he  len<>th  of  the  Igua- 
notliin  (formerly  an  inhabitant  of  the  Wealds  of  Sussex)  at  100  feet. 

•[  The  Deinotherium — supposed  to  have  been  a  colossal  species  of  hippopotamus.  ^ 


BOOK    X.  109 

XL. 

Under  the  limbs  of  mammoths  went  the  path, 
Or  thro'  the  arch  immense  of  Dragon  jaws, 

And  ever  on  the  King — in  watchful  wrath 
Gazed  the  attendant  Fiend,  with  artful  pause 

Where  dread  was  dreadliest ;  had  the  mortal  one 

Faltered  or  quail'dj  the  Fiend  his  prey  had  won, 

XLT. 

And  rent  it  limb  by  limb ;  but  on^the  Dove 

Arthur  look'd  steadfast,  and  the  Fiend  was  foil'd. 

Now,  as  along  the  skeleton  world  they  move, 

Strange  noises  jar,  and  flit  strange  shadows.     Toil'd 

T  he  Troll's"-'  swart  people,  in  their  inmost  home 

At  work  on  ruin  for  the  days  to  come. 

XLII. 

A  baleful  race,  whose  anvils  forge  the  flash 

Of  iron  murder  for  the  limbs  of  war ; 
Who  ripen  hostile  embryos,  for  the  crash 

Of  earthquakes  rolling  slow  to  towers  aflirj 
Or  train  from  Hecla's  fount  the  lurid  rills. 
To  cities  sleeping  under  shepherd  hills ; 

XLIII. 

Or  nurse  the  seeds,  thro'  patient  ages  rife 
With  the  full  harvest  of  that  crowning  fire. 

When  for  the  sentenced  Three, — Time,  Death,  and  Life, 
Our  globe  itself  shall  be  the  funeral  pyre; 

And,  awed  in  orbs  remote  some  race  ui  known 

Shall  miss  one  star,  whose  smile  had  lit  their  own ! 

*  In  Scandinavian   rnythoL->gy,  the  evil  spirits  arc  generally  called  Trolls  (or 
VOL.   II.  8 


110  KING     ARTHUR. 

XLIV. 

Thro'  the  Phlegraean  glare,  innumerous  eyes, 
Fierce  Avith  the  murther-kist,  scowl  ravening, 

And  forms  on  which  had  never  look'd  the  skies 
Stalk  near  and  nearer,  swooping  round  the  King, 

Till  from  the  blazing  sword  the  foul  array 

Shrink  back,  and  wolf-like  follow  on  the  way. 

XLV. 

Now  thro'  waste  mines  of  iron,  whose  black  peaks 
Frown  o'er  dull  Phlegethons  of  fire  below. 

While,  vague  as  worlds  unform'd,  sulphureous  reeks 
Roll  on  before  them  huge  and  dun, — they  go. 

Vanish  abrupt  the  vapours !     From  the  night 

Springs,  and  spreads  rushing,  like  a  flood,  the  light. 

r 

XLYI. 

A  mighty  cirque  with  lustre  belts  the  mine ; 

Its  walls  of  iron  glittering  into  steel ; 
Wall  upon  wall  reflected  flings  the  shine 

Of  armour !     Vizorless  the  Corpses  kneel, 
Their  glazed  eyes  fixed  upon  a  couch  where,  screen'd 
With  whispering  curtains,  sleeps  the  Kingly  Fiend  : 

XLVII. 

Corpses  of  giants,  who  perchance  had  heard 
The  tromps  of  Tubal,  and  had  leapt  to  strife. 

Whose  guilt  provoked  the  Deluge  :  sepulchred 
In  their  w^orld's  ruins,  still  a  frown  like  life 

Hung  o'er  vast  brows, — and  spears  like  turrets  shone 

In  hands  whose  grasp  had  crush'd  the  Mastodon.  "< 

(or  Trolds).  The  name  is  here  applied  to  the  malignant  race  of  Dwarfs,  whose  homes 
were  in  the  earih,  and  who  could  not  endure  the  suili 


BOOK    X.  Ill 

XLVIII. 

Around  the  couch,  a  silent  solemn  ring, 

They  whom  the  Teuton  call  the  Valkj^rs,  sate. 

Shot  thro'  pale  webs  their  spindles  glistening ; 
Dread  tissues  woven  out  of  human  hate 

For  heavenly  ends ! — for  there  is  spun  the  woe 

Of  every  war  that  ever  earth  shall  know. 

XLIX. 

Below  their  feet  a  bottomless  pit  of  gore  [done, 

Yawned,  where  each  web,  when  once  the  woof  was 

Was  scornful  cast.     Yet  rising  evermore 
Out  of  the  surface,  wandered  airy  on 

(Till  lost  in  upper  space)  pale  winged  seeds 

The  future  heaven-fruit  of  the  hell-born  deeds ; 

L. 

For  out  of  every  evil  born  of  time, 

God  shapes  a  good  for  his  eternity. 
Lo  where  the  spindles,  weaving  crime  on  crime, 

Form  the  world-work  of  Charlemains  to  be ; — 
How  in  that  hall  of  iron  lengthen  forth 
The  fates  that  ruin,  to  rebuild,  the  North ! 

LI. 

Here,  one  stern  Sister  smiling  on  the  King, 

Hurries  the  thread  that  twines  his  Nation's  doom, 

And,  farther  down,  the  whirring  spindles  sing 
Around  the  woof  which  from  his  Baltic  home 

Shall  charm  the  avenging  Norman,  to  control 

The  shattered  races  into  one  calm  whole. 


112  KING    ARTHUR. 

LII. 

Already  here,  tlie  liueless  lines  along, 

Grows  the  red  creed  of  the  Arabian  horde ; 

Already  here,  the  arm'd  Chivalric  Wrong 

Which  made  the  cross  the  symbol  of  the  sword, 

Which  thy  worst  idol,  Rome,  to  Judah  gave. 

And  worshipp'd  Mars  upon  the  Saviour's  grave ! 

LIII. 

Already  the  wild  Tartar  in  his  tents. 

Dreamless  of  thrones — and  the  fierce  Visigoth* 

Who  on  Colombia's  golden  armaments 

Shall  loose  the  hell-hounds,— nurse  the  age-long  growth 

Of  Desolation — as  the  noiseless  skein 

Clasps  in  its  web,  thy  far  descendants,  Cain ! 

LIV. 

Already,  in  the  hearts  of  sires  remote 

In  their  rude  Isle,  the  spell  ordains  the  germ 

Of  what  shall  be  a  Name  of  w^onder,  wrought " 
From  that  fell  feast  which  Glory  gives  the  worm. 

When  Rome's  dark  bird  shall  shade  with  thunder  wings 

Calm  brows  that  brood  the  doom  of  breathless  kings  !f 

LV. 

Already,  tho'  the  s:^d  unheeded  eyes 

Of  Bards  alone  foresee,  and  none  believe, 

The  lightning,  hoarded  from  the  farthest  skies, 
Into  the  mesh  the  race-destrovers  weave, 

When  o'er  our  marts  shall  graze  a  stranger  s  fold, 

And  the  new  Tarshish  rot,  as  rots  the  old. 

•     *  V'sigoth,  jDoe//ce   for  the  Spanish  Ravagers  of  Mexico  and  Peru, 
t  Napoleon. 


BOOK    X.  113 

LVI. 

Yea,  ever  there,  each  spectre  hand  the  birth 
Weaves  of  a  war — until  the  angel-blast 

(Peal'd  from  the  tromp  that  knells  the  doom  of  earth) 
Shall  start  the  livid  legions  from  their  last; 
*  And  man,  with  arm  uplifted  still  to  slay, 

Reel  on  some  Alp  that  rolls  in  smoke  away ! 

LVII. 

Fierce  glared  the  dwarf  upon  the  silent  King, 
"  There  is  the  prize  thy  vision  would  achieve ! 

There,  where  the  hush'd  inexorable  ring 

Murder  the  myriads  in  the  webs  they  weave, 

Behind  the  curtains  of  Incarnate  War, 

Whose  lightest  tremor  topples  thrones  afar, — 

Lviir. 
"  Which  even  the  Yalkyrs  with  their  bloodless  hands 

Ne'er  dare  aside  to  draw, — go,  seek  the  Shield ! 
Yet  be  what  follows  known ! — yon  kneeling  bands 

Whose  camps  Avere  Andes,  and  whose  battle-field 
Left  plains,  now  empires,  rolling  seas  of  gore, 
Shall  hear  the  clang  and  leap  to  life  once  more. 

LIX. 

"  Roused  from  their  task,  revengeful  shall  arise 
The  never  baffled  'Choosers  of  the  Slain, 

The  Fiend  thy  hand  shall  wake,  unclose  the  eyes 
That  flash'd  on  heavenly  hosts  their  storms  again, 

And  thy  soul  wither  in  the  mighty  frown 

Before  whose  night,  an  earlier  sun  sunk  down. 


114  KING    ARTHUR. 

LX. 

"  The  rocks  shall  close  all  path  for  flight  save  one, 
Where  now  the  Troll-fiends  wait  to  rend  their  prey, 

And  each  malign  and  monster  skeleton. 
Re-clothed  with  life  as  in  the  giant  day 

When  yonder  seas  were  valleys — scent  thy  gore 

And  grin  with  fangs  that  gnash  for  food  once  more. 

LXI. 

"  Ho,  dost  thou  shudder,  pale  one  ?     Back  and  live." 
Thrice  strove  the  King  for  speech,  and  thrice  in  vain, 

For  he  was  man,  and  till  our  souls  survive 
The  instinct  born  of  flesh,  shall  Horror  reign 

In  that  unknown  beyond  the  realms  of  Sense, 

Where  the  soul's  darkness  seems  the  man's  defence. 

Lxir. 
Yet  as  when  thro'  uncertain  troublous  cloud 

Breaks  the  sweet  morning  star,  and  from  its  home 
Smiles  lofty  peace,  so  thro'  the  phantom  crowd 

Of  fears — the  Eos  of  the  world  to  come, 
Faith,  look'd — revealing  how  earth-nourish'd  are 
The  clouds  ]  and  how  beyond  their  reach  the  star ! 

LXIII. 

Mute  on  his  knee,  amidst  the  kneeling  dead 
He  sank — the  dead  the  dreaming  fiend  revered^ 

And  he,  the  living,  God !  Then  terror  fled. 
And  all  the  king  illumed  the  front  he  reared. 

Firm  to  the  couch  on  which  the  fiend  reposed 

He  strode; — the  curtains,  murmuring,  round  him  closed. 


BOOK    X.  115 

LXIV. 

Now  while  this  chanced,  without  the  tortured  rock 
Raged  fierce  the  war  between  the  rival  might 

Of  beast  and  man ;  the  dwarf  king's  ravenous  flock 
And  Norway's  warriors  led  by  Cymri's  knight. 

For  by  the  foot-prints  thro'  the  snows  explored, 

On  to  the  rock  the  bands  had  track'd  their  lord. 

LXV. 

Repell'd,  not  conquered,  back  to  crag  and  cave, 
Sullen  and  watchful  still,  the  monsters  go ; 

And  solitude  resettles  on  the  wave, 
But  silence  not ;  around,  aloft,  alow. 

Roar  the  couch'd  beasts,  and  answering  from  the  main, 

Shrieks  the  shrill  gull  and  booms  the  dismal  crane. 

LXV  I, 

And  now  the  rock  itself  from  every  tomb 
Of  its  dead  world  within,  sends  voices  forth. 

Sounds  direr  far,  than  in  its  ray  less  gloom 
Crash  on  the  midnight  of  the  farthest  North. 

From  beasts  our  world  hath  lost,  the  strident  yell, 

The  shout  of  giants  and  the  laugh  of  hell. 

LXVII. 

Reels  all  the  isle;  and  every  ragged  steep 

Hurls  down  an  avalanche; — all  the  crater-cave 

Glows  into  swarthy  red,  and  fire-showers  leap 
From  rended  summits,  hissing  to  the  wave 

Thro'  its  hard  ice ;  or  in  huge  crags,  wide  sounding 

Spring  where  they  crash — on  rushing  and  rebounding. 


116  KIKG    ARTHUE. 

LXYIIT. 

Dizzy  and  blind  the  staggering  Northmen  fall 
On  earth  that  rocks  beneath  them  like  a  bark ; 

Loud  and  more  lond  the  tumult  swells  with  all 
The  Acheron  of  discord.     Swift  and  dark 

From  every  cleft  tlie  smoke-clouds  burst  their  way, 

Eush  thro'  the  void,  and  sweep  from  heaven  the  day. 

LXIX. 

Smitten  beneath  the  pestilential  blast 

And  the  great  terror,  senseless  lay  the  band. 

Till  the  arrested  life,  with  throes  at  last, 
Gasp'd  back  :  and  holy  over  sea  and  land 

Silence  and  light  reposed.     They  look'd  above, 

And  calm  in  calmed  air  beheld  the  Dove  ! 

LXX. 

And  o'er  their  prostraie  lord  was  poised  the  wing; 

And  when  they  rush'd  and  reach'd  him,  shouting  joy, 
There  came  no  answer  from  the  corpselike  King; 

And  when  his  true  knight  raised  him,  heavily 
Drooped  his  pale  front  upon  the  faithful  breast, 
And  the  closed  lids  seemed  leaden  in  their  rest. 

LXXI. 

And  all  his  mail  was  dinted,  hewn,  and  crush'd. 
And  the  bright  falchion  dim  w^ith  foul  dark  gore ; 

And  the  strong  pulse  of  the  strong  hand  was  liush'd  ; 
Like  a  spent  storm,  that  might  which  seemed  before 

Charged  with  the  bolts  of  Jove,  now  from  the  sky 

Drew  breath  more  feeble  than  an  infant's  sigh. 


BOOK    X.  IIT 

LXXII. 

And  there  was  solemn  change  on  that  fair  face, 
Nor,  whatsoe'er  the  fear  or  scorn  had  been, 

Did  the  past  passion  leave  its  haggard  trace ; 
But  on  the  rigid  beauty  awe  was  seen. 

As  one  who  on  the  Gorgon's  aspect  fell. 

Had  gazed,  and  freezing,  yet  survived  the  spell ! 

LXXIII. 

Not  by  the  chasm  in  which  he  left  the  day, 

But  through  a  new-made  gorge  the  fires  had  cleft, 

As  if  with  fires,  themselves,  were  forced  the  way. 
Had  rush'd  the  King ; — and  sense  and  sinew  left 

The  form  that  struggled  till  the  strife  was  o'er ; 

So  faints  the  swimmer  when  he  gains  the  shore. 

LXXIV. 

But  on  his  arm  was  clasp'd  the  wondrous  prize, 

Dimm'd,  tarnished,  grimed,  and  black  with  gore  and 
smoke. 

Still  the  pure  metal,  thro'  each  foul  disguise. 
Like  starlight  scattered  on  dark  waters,  broke ; 

Thro'  gore,  thro'  smoke  it  shone — the  silver  shield. 

Clear  as  dawns  Freedom  from  her  battle-field ! 

LXXV. 

Days  followed  days,  ere  from  that  speechless  trance 
(Borne  to  green  inlets  isled  amid  the  snows 

Where  led  the  Dove),  the  king's  reviving  glance 
Look'd  languid  round  on  watchful,  joyful  brows ; 

Ev'n  while  he  slept,  new  flowers  the  earth  had  given, 

And  on  his  heart  brooded  the  bird  of  heaven ! 


118  '  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXVI. 

But  ne'er  as  voice  and  strength  and  sense  returned, 
To  his  good  knight  the  strife  that  won  the  Shield 

Did  Arthur  tell;  deep  in  his  soul  inui-ned 
(As  in  the  grave  its  secret)  nor  reveal'd 

To  mortal  ear — that  mystery  which  for  ever 

Flowed  thro'  his  though t^  as  thro'  the  cave  a  river ; 

Lxxyii. 
Whether  to  Love,  how  true  soe'er  its  faith, 

Whether  to  Wisdom,  whatsoe'er  its  skill. 
Till  his  last  hour  the  struggle  and  the  scathe 

Remained  unuttered  and  unutterable ; 
But  aye,  in  solitude,  in  crowds,  in  strife. 
In  joy,  that  memory  lived  within  his  life  : 

Lxxvni. 
It  made  not  sadness,  tho'  the  calm  grave  smile 

Never  regained  the  flash  that  youth  had  given, — 
But  as  some  shadow  from  a  sacred  pile 

Darkens  the  earth  from  shrines  that  speak  of  heaven, 
That  gloom  the  grandeur  of  religion  wore, 
And  seemed  to  hallow  all  it  rested  o'er. 

LXXIX. 

Such  Freedom  is,  0  Slave,  that  would  be  free ! 

Never  her  real  struggles  into  life 
Ilath  History  told !     As  it  hath  been  shall  be 

The  Apocalypse  of  Nations ;  nursed  in  strife 
Not  with  the  present,  nor  with  living  foes, 
But  where  the  centuries  shroud  their  long  rejDose. 


BOOK    X.  119 

LXXX. 

Out  from  the  graves  of  earth's  primseval  bones, 
The  shield  of  empire,  patient  Force  must  win  : 

What  made  the  Briton  free  ?  not  crashing  thrones 
Nor  parchment  laws  ?     The  charter  must  begin 

In  Scythian  tents,  the  steel  of  Nomad  spears ; 

To  date  the  freedom,  count  three  thousand  years ! 

LXXXI. 

Neither  is  freedom  mirth  !     Be  free,  0  slave. 
And  dance  no  n^ore  beneath  the  lazy  palm. 

Freedom's  mild  brow  with  nol)le  care  is  grave, 
Her  bliss  is  solemn  as  her  strength  is  calm ; 

And  thought  mature  each  childlike  sport  debars 

The  forms  erect  whose  look  is  on  the  stars. 

LXXXII. 

Now  as  the  King  revived,  along  the  seas 

Flowed  back,  enlarged  to  life,  the  lapsing  waters, 

Kiss'd  from  their  slumber  by  the  loving  breeze 

Glide,  in  light  dance,  the  Ocean's  silver  daughters — 

And  blithe  and  hopeful,  o'er  the  sunny  strands, 

Listing  the  long-lost  billow,  rove  the  bands. 

LXXXIII. 

At  length,  0  sight  of  joy ! — the  gleam  of  sails 
Burst  on  the  solitude  !  more  near  and  near 

Come  the  white  playmates  of  the  buxom  gales. — 
The  whistling  cords,  the  sounds  of  man,  they  hear. 

Shout  answers  shout ; — light  sparkles  round  the  oar — 

And  from  the  barks  the  boat  skims  on  to  shore. 


120  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXXIV. 

It  was  a  race  from  Rugen's  friendly  soil, 

Leagued  by  old  ties  with  Cymri's  land  and  king. 

Who,  with  the  spring  time,  to  their  wonted  spoil 
Of  seals  and  furs  had  spread  the  canvas  wing 

To  bournes  their  fathers  never  yet  had  known ; — 

And  found  amazed,  hearts  bolder  than  their  own. 

LXXXV. 

Soon  to  the  barks  the  Cymrians  and  their  bands 
Are  borne  :  Bright-hair'd,  above  the  gazing  crews, 

Lone  on  the  loftiest  deck,  the  leader  stands. 

To  whom  the  King  (his  rank  made  known)  renews 

All  that  liis  tale  of  mortal  hope  and  fear 

Vouc-isafes  from  truth  to  thrill  a  mortal's  ear ; 

LXXXVI. 

And  from  the  barks  whose  sails  the  chief  obey. 

Craves  one  to  waft  where  yet  the  fates  may  guide. — 

With  rugged  wonder  in  his  large  survey. 

That  calm  grand  brow  the  son  of  ^gir*  eyed, 

And  seemed  in  awe,  as  of  a  god,  to  scan 

Him  who  so  moved  his  homage,  vet  was  man. 

LXXXVII. 

Smoothing  his  voice,  rough  with  accustomed  swell 
Above  the  storms,  and  the  wild  roar  of  war, 

The  Northman  answered,  "  Skalds  in  winter  tell 
Of  the  dire  dwarf  who  guards  the  Shield  of  Tlior, 

For  one  whose  race,  with  Odin's  blent,  shall  be, 

Lords  of  the  only  realm  which  suits  the  Free, 

*  ^gir,  the  God  of  the  Ocean,  the  Scandinavian  Neptune. 


BOOK    X.  121 

LXXXVIII, 

'*  Ocean  ! — I  greet  thee,  and  this  strong  right  hand 
Phice  in  thine  own  to  pledge  myseh'  thy  man. 

Choose  as  thou  wilt  for  thee  and  for  thy  band, 
Amongst  the  sea  steeds  in  the  stalls  of  Ran. 

Need'st  thou  our  arms  ascainst  the  Saxon  foe  ? 

Our  flag  shall  fly  where'er  thy  trumpets  blow !" 

LXXXIX. 

"  Men  to  be  free  must  free  themselves,"  the  King 
Replied,  proud-smiling.     "  Every  father-land 

Spurns  from  its  breast  the  recreant  sons  that  cling 
For  hope,  to  standards  winds  not  theirs  have  fann'd. 

Thankful  thro'  thee  our  foe  we  reach ; — and  then 

Cymri  hath  steel  eno'  for  Cymrian  men !" 

xc. 
While  these  converse.  Sir  Gawaine,  with  his  hound. 

Lured  by  a  fragrant  and  delightsome  smell 
From  roasts — not  meant  for  Freya, — makes  his  round, 

Shakes  hands  with  all,  and  hopes  their  wives  are  well. 
From  spit  to  spit  with  easy  grace  he  walks, 
And  chines  astounded  vanish  w^hile  he  talks. 

xci. 
At  earliest  morn  the  bark  to  bear  the  King, 

His  sa2:e  discernment  delicatelv  stores, 
Rejects  the  blubber  and  disdains  the  ling 

For  hams  of  rein-deers  and  for  heads  of  boars, 
Connives  at  seal,  to  satisfy  his  men. 
But  childless  leaves  each  loud-lamentin.2:  hen. 


122  KING    ARTHUR. 

XCII. 

And  now  the  bark  the  Cymrian  prince  ascends, 
The  large  oars  chhning  to  the  chaunting  crew, 

(His  leal  Norwegian  band)  the  new-found  friends 
From  brazen  trumpets  blare  their  loud  adieu. 

Forth  bounds  the  ship,  and  Gawaine,  while  it  quickens, 

The  wind  propitiates — with  three  virgin  chickens. 

xciir. 

Led  by  the  Dove,  more  brightly  day  by  day, 

The  vernal  azure  deepens  in  the  sky ; 
Far  from  the  Polar  threshold  smiles  the  way — 

And  lo,  white  Albion  shimmers  on  the  eye, 
Nurse  of  all  nations,  who  to  breasts  severe 
Takes  the  rude  children,  the  calm  men  to  rear. 

xciv. 
Doubt  and  amaze  with  joy  perplex  the  king, 

Not  yet  the  task  achieved,  the  mission  done, 
Why  homeward  steers  the  angel  pilot's  wdng  ? 

Of  the  three  labours  rests  the  crowning  one ; 
Unreached  the  Iron  Gates — Death's  sullen  hold — 
Where  waits  the  Child-guide  with  the  locks  of  gold. 

xcv. 

Yet  still  the  Dove  cleaves  homeward  thro'  the  air; 

Glides  o'er  the  entrance  of  an  inland  stream ; 
And  rests  at  last  on  bowers  of  foliage,  where 

Thick  forests  close  their  ramparts  on  the  beam ; 
And  clasp  with  dipping  boughs  a  grassy  creek, 
Whose  marge  slopes  level  with  the  brazen  beak. 


BOOK    X.  123 

XCVI. 

Around  his  neck  the  shield,  the  Adventurer  skmg, 
And  girt  the  enchanted  sword.    Then  kneeling,  said 

The  young  Ulysses  of  the  golden  tongue, 

"  Not  now  to  phantom  foes  the  dove  hath  led ; 

For,  if  I  err  not,  this  a  Mercian  haven. 

And  from  the  dove  peeps  forth  at  last  the  raven ! 

XCVII. 

"  Not  lone,  nor  reckless,  in  these  glooms  profound. 
Tempt  the  sure  ambush  of  some  Saxon  host ; 

If  out  of  sight,  at  least  in  reach  of  sound. 

Let  our  stout  Northmen  follow  up  the  coast ; 

Then  if  thou  wilt,  from  each  suspicious  tree 

Shake  laurels  doAvn,  but  share  them.  Sire,  with  me  ?" 

XCVIII. 

"  Nay,"  answered  Arthur,  "  ever,  as  before, 
Alone  the  pilgrim  to  his  bourne  must  go ; 

But  range  the  men  concealed  along  the  shore ; 
Set  watch,  from  these  green  turrets,  for  the  foe; 

Moor'd  to  the  marge  where  broadest  hangs  the  bough. 

Hide  from  the  sun  the  glitter  of  the  prow ; — 

xcix. 
^'' And  so  farewell!"  He  said;  to  land  he  leapt; 

And  with  dull  murmur  from  its  verdant  waves, 
O'er  his  high  crest  the  billowy  forest  swept. 

As  towards  some  fitful  light  the  swimmer  cleaves 
His  stalwart  way, — -so  thro'  the  woven  shades 
Where  the  pale  wing  now  glimmers  and  now  fades, 


124  KING    ARTHUR. 


^-  I 


With  strong  hand  parting  the  tough  branches,  goes 
Hour  after  hour  the  King ;  till  light  at  last 

From  skies  long  hid,  wide-silvering  interflows 

Thro'  opening  glades, — the  length  of  gloom  is  past, 

And  the  dark  pines  receding,  stand  around 

A  silent  hill  with  antique  ruins  crown'd. 

CI. 

Day  had  long  closed ;  and  from  the  mournful  deeps 
Of  old  volcanoes  spent,  the  livid  moon 

Which  thro'  the  life  of  j^lanets  lifeless  creeps 
Her  ghostly  way,  deaf  to  the  choral  tune 

Of  spheres  rejoicing,  on  those  ruins  old 

Look'd  down,  herself  a  ruin,^hush'd  and  cold. 

CII. 

Mutely  the  granite  wrecks  the  king  survey'd. 
And  knew  the  work  of  hands  Cimmerian, 

What  time  in  starry  robes,  and  awe,  array'd. 
Gray  Druids  spoke  the  oracles  of  man — 

Solving  high  riddles  to  Chaldean  Mage, 

Or  the  young  wonder  of  the  Samian  Sage. 

cm. 
A  date  remounting  far  beyond  the  day 

When  Koman  legions  met  the  scythed  cars, 
\Ylien  purer  founts  sublime  had  lapsed  away 

Thro'  the  deep  rents  of  unrecorded  wars. 
And  blooodstained  altars  cursed  the  mountain  sod, 
Where''*"  the  first  faith  had  hail'd  the  only  God. 

•   See  Note  appended  to  the  end  of  this  book. 


BOOK    X.  125 

CIV. 

For  all  now  left  us  of  the  parent  Celt, 

Is  of  that  later  and  corrupter  timej — 
Not  in  rude  domeless  fanes  those  Fathers  knelt, 

Who  lured  the  Brahman  from  his  burning  clime, 
Who  charmed  lost  science  from  each  lone  abyss. 
And  winged  the  shaft  of  Scythian  Abaris.* 

cv. 

Yea,  the  grand  sires  of  our  primaBval  race 
Saw  angel  tracks  the  earlier  earth  upon. 

And  as  a  rising  sun,  the  morning  face 

Of  Truth  more  near  the  flush'd  horizon  shone. 

Filling  ev'n  clouds  with  many  a  golden  light. 

Lost  when  the  orb  is  at  the  noonday  height. 

cvi. 

Thro'  the  large  ruins  (now  no  more),  the  last 
Perchance  on  earth  of  those  diviner  sires. 

With  noiseless  step  the  lone  descendant  past ; 
Not  there  were  seen  Bal-huan's  amber  pyres ; 

No  circling  shafts  vfith  barbarous  fragments  strown. 

Spoke  creeds  of  carnage  to  the  spectral  moon. 

CVII. 

But  art,  vast,  simple,  and  sublime,  was  there 
Ev'n  in  its  mournful  wrecks, — such  art  foregone 

As  the  first  Builders,  when  their  grand  despair 
Left  Shinar's  tower  and  city  half  undone. 

Taught  where  they  wander'd  o'er  the  newborn  world. — 

Column,  and  vault,  and  roof,  in  ruin  hurl'd, 

•  The  arrow  of  Abcris  (which  bore  him  where  he  pleased)  is  supposed  by  some 
VOL.  II.  9 


126  KING     ARTHUR. 

CVIII. 

Still  spoke  of  hands  that  founded  Babylon ! 

So  in  the  wrecks,  the  Lord  of  young  Romance 
By  fallen  pillars  laid  him  musing  down. 

More  large  and  large  the  moving  shades  advance, 
Blending  in  one  dim  silence  sad  and  wan 
The  past,  the  present,  ruin  and  the  man. 

cix. 
Now,  o'er  his  lids  life's  gentlest  influence  stole. 

Life's  gentlest  influence  yet  the  likest  death ! 
That  nightly  proof  how  little  needs  the  soul 

Light  from  the  sense,  or  being  from  the  breath, 
When  all  life  knows  a  life  unknown  supplies, 
And  airy  worlds  around  a  Spirit  rise. 

ex. 

Still  thro'  the  hazy  mists  of  stealing  sleep, 

His  eyes  explore  the  watchful  guardian's  wing. 
There,  where  it  broods  upon  the  moss-grown  heap, 
'    With  plumes  that  all  the  stars  are  silvering. 
Slow  close  the  lids — re-opening  with  a  start 
As  shoots  a  nameless  terror  thro'  his  heart. 

CXI. 

That  strange  wild  awe  which  haunted  Childhood  thrills, 
When  waking  at  the  dead  of  Dark,  alone ; 

A  sense  of  sudden  solitude  which  chills 

The  blood ; — a  shrinking  as  from  shapes  unknown  ; 

An  instinct  both  of  some  protection  fled. 

And  of  the  coming  of  some  ghastly  dread. 

to  have  been  the  loadstone.     And  Abaris  himself  has  been,  by  some  ingenious 
f-peculators,  identified  with  a  Druid  philosopher. 


BOOK    X.  127 

CXII. 

He  looked,  and  lo,  the  dove  was  seen  no  more, 
Lone  lay  the  lifeless  wrecks  beneath  the  moon. 

And  the  one  loss  gave  all  that  seemed  before 
Desolate, — twofold  desolation  ! 

How  slight  a  thing,  whose  love  our  trust  has  been. 

Alters  the  world,  when  it  no  more  is  seen  ! 

CXIII. 

He  strove  to  speak,  but  voice  was  gone  from  him. 

As  in  that  loss,  new  might  the  terror  took. 
His  veins  congeal'd ;  and,  interfused  and  dim, 

Shadow  and  moonlight  swam  before  his  look ; 
Bristled  his  hair;  and  all  the  strong  dismay 
Seized  as  an  eagle  when  it  grasps  its  prey. 

CXIV. 

Senses  and  soul  confused,  and  jarr'd,  and  blent,' 
Lay  crush'd  beneath  the  intolerable  Power; 

Then  over  all,  one  flash,  in  lightning,  rent 

The  veil  between  the  Immortal  and  the  Hour; 

Life  heard  the  voice  of  unembodied  breath. 

And  Sleep  stood  trembling  face  to  face  with  Death. 


NOTE  TO  BOOK  X, 


**  And  blood-stained  altars  cursed  the  mountain  sod, 
Where  the  first  faith  had  hail'd  the  only  God," 

Page  124,  stanza  civ. 

The  testimony  to  be  found  in  classical  writers  as  to  the  origi- 
nal purity  of  the  Druid  worship,  before  it  was  corrupted  into  the 
idolatry  wdiich  existed  in  Britain  at  the  time  of  the  Roman  con- 
quest, is  strongly  corroborated  by  the  Welch  triads.  These  tri- 
ads, indeed,  are  of  various  dates,  but  some  bear  the  mark  of  a 
very  remote  antiquity — wholly  distinct  alike  from  the  philosophy 
of  the  Romans,  and  the  mode  of  thought  prevalent  in  the  earlier 
ages  of  the  Christian  era  ;  in  short,  anterior  to  all  the  recorded 
conquests  over  the  Cymrian  people.  These,  like  proverbs,  ap- 
pear the  wrecks  and  fragments  of  some  primaeval  ethics,  or  philo- 
sophical religion.  Nor  are  such  remarkable  alone  for  the  purity 
of  the  notions  they  inculcate  relative  to  the  Deity ;  they  have 
often,  upon  matters  less  spiritual,  the  delicate  observation,  as  well 
as  the  profound  thought,  of  reflective  wisdom.  It  is  easy  to  see 
in  them,  how  identified  w^as  the  Bard  with  the  Sage — that  rare 
union  which  produces  the  highest  kind  of  human  knowledge. 
Such,  perhaps  are  the  relics  of  that  sublimer  learning  which,  ages 
before  the  sacrifice  of  victims  in  wicker-idols,  won  for  the  Dru- 
ids the  admiration  of  the  cautious  Aristotle,  as  ranking  among 
the  true  enlighteners  of  men — such  the  teachers  who  (we  may  sup- 
pose to  have)  instructed  the  mystical  Pythagoras;  a^d  furnished 


"     NOTE     TO    BOOK    X.  129 

new  themes  for  meditation  to  the  musing  Brahman.  Nor  were 
the  Druids  of  Britain  inferior  to  those  with  whom  the  Sages  of  the 
western  and  eastern  world  came  more  in  contact.  On  the  con- 
trary, even  to  the  time  of  Caesar,  the  Druids  of  Britain  excelled 
in  science  and  repute  those  in  Gaul:  and  to  their  schools  the 
Neophites  of  the  Continent  were  sent. 

In  the  Stanzas  that  follow  the  description  of  the  more  primi- 
tive Cymrians,  it  is  assumed  that  the  rude  Druid  remains  now  ex- 
istent (as  at  Stonehenge,  &c.),  are  coeval  only  with  the  later  and 
corrupted  state  of  a  people  degenerated  to  idol  worship,  and 
that  they  previously  possessed  an  architecture,  of  which  no  trace 
now  remains,  more  suited  to  their  early  civilization.  If  it  be  true 
that  they  worshipped  the  Deity  only  in  his  own  works,  and  that 
it  was  not  until  what  had  been  a  symbol  passed  into  an  idol, 
that  they  deserted  the  mountain  top  and  the  forest  for  the  temple, 
they  would  certainly  have  wanted  the  main  inducement  to  per- 
manent and  lofty  architecture.  Still  it  may  be  allowed,  at  least  to 
a  poet,  to  suppose  that  men  so  sensible  as  the  primitive  Saro- 
nides,  would  have  held  their  schools  and  colleges  in  places  more 
adapted  to  a  northern  climate  than  their  favourite  oak  groves. 


KING    ARTHUR. 


BOOK   XL 


ARGUMENT. 

The  Siege  of  Carcluel ;  The  Saxon  forces ;  Stanzas  relative  to  Ludovick 
the  Vandal,  in  explanation  of  the  failure  of  his  promised  aid,  and  in 
description  of  the  events  in  Vandal-land ;  The  preparations  of  the  Saxon 
host  for  the  final  assault  on  the  City,  under  cover  of  the  approaching 
night ;  The  state  of  Carduel ;   Discord ;   Despondence  ;   Famine ;   The 
apparent  impossibility  to  resist  the  coming  Enemy ;  Dialogue  between 
Caradoc  and  Merlin  ;  Caradoc  hears  his  sentence,  and  is  resigned  ;  He 
unstrings  his  harp  and  descends  into  the  town ;  The  Progress  of  Song, 
in  its  effects  upon  the  multitude ;  Caradoc' s  address  to  the  people  he  has 
roused,  and  the  rush  to  the  Council  Hall;  Meanwhile  the  Saxons  reach 
the  walls  ;  The  burst  of  the  Cymrians  ;  the  Saxons  retire  into  the  plain 
between  the  Camp  and  the  City,  and  there  take  their  stand;  The  battle 
described ;  The  single  combat  between  Lancelot  and  Harold ;   Crida 
loads  on  his  reserve;  the  Cymrians  take  alarm  and  waver;  The  pre- 
diction invented  by  the  noble  devotion  of  Caradoc  ;  His  fate  ;  The  en- 
tliusiasm  of  the  Cymrians  and  the  retreat  of  the  enemy  ta  their  Camp  ; 
The  first  entrance  of  a  Happy  Soul  into  Heaven  ;  The  Ghost  that  ap- 
pears to  Arthur,  and  leads  him  tlirough  the  Cimmerian  tomb  to  the 
Kealm  of  Death  ;  The  sense  of  time  and  space  are  annihilated  ;  Death, 
the  Phantasmal  Everywhere ;  Its  brevity  and  nothingness  ;  The  condi- 
tion of  soul  is  life,  whether  here  or  hereafter ;  Fate  and  Nature  iden- 
tical ;  Arthur  accosted  by  his  Guardian  Angel ;  after  the  address  of 
that  Angel  (which  in  truth  represents  what  we  call  Conscience),  Arthur 
loses  his  former  fear  both  of  the  realm  and  the  Phantom ;  He  addresses 
the  Ghost,  which  vanishes  without  reply  to  his  question;  The  last  boon; 
The  destined  Soother ;  Arthur  recovering  as  from  a  trance,  sees  the 
Maiden  of  the  Tomb  ;  Her  description  ;  The  Dove  is  beheld  no  more  ; 
Strange  resemblance  between  the  Maiden  and  the  Dove  ;  Arthur  is  led 
to  his  ship,  and  sails  at  once  for  Garduel ;  He  arrives  on  the  Cymrian 
territory,  and  lands  with  Gawaine  and  the  Maiden  near  Carduel,  amidst 
the  ruins  of  a  hamlet  devastated  b}^  the  Saxons  ;  He  seeks  a  convent,  of 
which  only  one  tower,  built  by  the  Romans,  remains  ;  From  the  hill  top 
he  surveys  the  walls  of  Carduel  and  the  Saxon  encampment ;  The  ap- 
pearance of  the  holy  Abbess,  who  recognizes  the  king,  and  conducts 
him  and  his  companions  to  the  subterranean  grottoes  built  by  the  Ro- 
mans for  a  summer  retreat ;  He  leaves  the  Maiden  to  the  care  of  the 
Abbess,  and  concerts  with  GaAvaine  in  the  scheme  for  attack  on  the 
Saxons  ;    The  Virgin  is  conducted  to  the  cell  of  the  Abbess  ;    Her 
thoughts  and  recollections,  which  explain  her  history;  Her  resolution; 
She  attempts  to  escape ;  Meets  the  Abbess,  who  hangs  the  Cross  round 
her  neck,  and  blesses  her ;  She  departs  to  the  Saxon  Camp. 


BOOK     XI. 


I. 

King  Crida's  hosts  are  storming  Carduel ! 

From  vale  to  mount  one  world  of  armour  shines, 
Round  castled  piles*  for  which  the  forest  fell, 

Spreads  the  white  war  town  of  the  Teuton  lines ; 
To  countless  clarions,  countless  standards  swell ; 
King  Crida's  hosts  are  storming  Carduel ! 

II. 
There,  all  its  floods  the  Saxon  deluge  pours ; 

All  the  fierce  trihes ;  from  those  whose  fathers  first 
With  their  red  seaxes  from  the  southward  shores. 

Carved  realms  for  Hengist, — to  the  bands  that  burst 
Along  the  Humber,  on  the  idle  wall 
Rome  built  for  manhood  rotted  bj  her  thrall. 

*  The  Saxons  appear  from  a  very  remote  period  to  have  fortified  their  encamp- 
ments by  palisades  and  strong  works  of  timber.  In  the  centre  of  these  it  was  the 
custom  of  the  Teuton  tribes  to  erect  a  rude  fastness  for  their  gods  and  women.  In 
the  latter  times  of  Anglo-Saxon  warfa'e,  when  established  in  the  land,  their  armies 
ceased  to  fight  for  settlements,  and  their  idols  and  women  did  not  accompany  them, 
this  latter  custom  naturally  ceased,  though  they  always  retained  the  relics  of  the 
habit  in  a  strong  central  position,  formed  by  wagons  and  barricades.  Even  in  the 
open  battle-field,  the  Teutons  (especially  of  Scandinavia)  were  tenacious  of  a 
temporary  stronghold,  which  formed  the  nucleus  of  their  array,  selecting  generally 
a  rising  ground,  ramparted  with  shields^  in  which  the  king  stationed  himself  wiiti 
his  reserve. 


134  KING    ARTHUR. 

III. 

There,  wild  allies  from  many  a  kindred  race, 
In  Cymrian  lands  hail  Teuton  thrones  to  be : 

Dark  Jutland  wails  her  absent  populace, — 

And  large-limb'd  sons,  his  waves  no  more  shall  see, 

Leave  Danube  desolate !  afar  they  roam. 

Where  halts  the  Raven  there  to  find  a  home ! 

IV. 

But  wherefore  fail  the  Vandal's  j^romised  bands  ? 

Well  said  the  Greek,  '  not  till  his  latest  hour 
Deem  man  secure  from  Fortune  \  in  our  hands 

We  clutch  the  sunbeam  when  we  grasp  at  power; — 
No  strength  detains  the  unsubstantial  prize, 
The  light  escapes  us  as  the  moment  flies. 

V. 

And  monarchs  envied  Ludovick  the  Great ! 

And  Wisdom's  seers  his  wiles  did  wisdom  call, 
And  Force  stood  sentry  at  his  castle  gate ; 

And  Mammon  soothed  the  murmurers  in  the  hall ; 
For  Freedom's  forms  disguised  the  despot's  thought- 
lie  ruled  by  synods — and  the  synods  bought ! 

VI. 

Yet  empires  rest  not  or  on  gold  or  steel ; 

The  old  in  habit  strike  the  gnarled  root ; 
But  vigorous  faith — the  young  fresh  sap  of  zeal, 

Must  make  the  life-blood  of  the  planted  shoot — 
And  new-born  states,  like  new  religions,  need 
Not  the  dull  code,  but  the  impassion'd  creed. 


BOOK    XL  135 

VII. 

Give  but  a  cause,  a  child  may  be  a  chief! 

What  cause  to  hosts  can  Ludovick  supply  ? 
Swift  flies  the  Element  of  Power,  Belief, 

From  all  foundations  hollowed  to  a  lie. 
One  morn,  a  riot  in  the  streets  arose, 
And  left  the  Vandal  crownless  at  the  close. 

VIII. 

A  plump  of  spears  the  riot  could  have  crush'd ! 

"  Defend  the  throne,  my  spearmen !"  cried  the  king. 
The  spearmen  armed,  and  forth  the  sjDearmen  rush'd, 

When  woe  !  they  took  to  reason  on  the  thing ! 
And  then  conviction  smote  them  on  the  spot, 
That  for  that  throne  they  did  not  care  a  jot. 

IX. 

With  scuff  and  scum,  with  urchins  loosed  from  school, 
Thieves,  gleemen,  jugglers,  beggars^  swelled  the  riot; 

While,  like  the  gods  of  Epicurus,  cool 

On  crowd,  and  crown — the  spearmen  looked  in  quiet ; 

Till  all  its  heads  that  Hydra  calFd  '  The  Many,' 

Stretch'd  hissing  forth,  without  a  stroke  at  any. 

X, 

At  first  Astutio,  wrong  but  very  wise, 
Disdain'd  the  Hydra  as  a  fabled  creature, 

The  vague  invention  of  a  Poet's  lies. 

Unknown  to  Pliny  and  the  laws  of  Nature — 

Nor  till  the  fact  was  past  philosophizing, 

Saitli  he,  "  That  's  Hydra,  there  is  no  disguising ! 


136  KING    ARTHUR. 

XI. 

'^  A  Hydra,  Sire,  a  Hercules  demands, 
So  if  not  Hercules,  assume  his  vizard." 

The  advice  is  oiood — the  Vandal  wrino^s  his  hands. 
Kicks  out  the  Sage — and  rushes  to  a  wizard. 

The  wizard  waves  his  wand — disarms  the  sentry. 

And  (w^ondrous  man)  enchants  the  nioh — with  entry = 

XII. 

Thus  fell,  tho'  no  man  touch'd  him,  Ludovick, 

Tripp'd  by  the  slide  of  his  own  slippery  feet.  "^ 

The  crown  cajoled  from  Fortune  by  a  trick. 
Fortune,  in  turn,  outcheated  from  the  cheat ; 

Clapp'd  her  sly  cap  the  glittering  bauble  on. 

Cried  "  Presto  !"^ — raised  it — and  the  gaud  was  gone  ! 

XIII. 

Ev'n  at  the  last,  to  self  and  nature  true, 
No  royal  heart  the  breath  of  danger  woke ; 

To  mean  disguise  habitual  instinct  flew. 

And  the  King  vanished  in  a  craftsman's  cloak. 

While  his  brave  princes  scampering  for  their  lives, 

Relictus  parmulis — forgot  their  wives  ! 

XIV. 

King  Mob  succeeding  to  the  vacant  throne. 

Chose  for  his  ministers  some  wise  Chaldeans, — 

Who  told  the  sun  to  close  the  day  at  noon. 
Nor  sweat  to  death  his  betters  the  plebeians ; 

And  bade  the  earth,  unvexed  by  plough  and  spade, 

Bring  forth  its  wheat  in  quarterns  ready  made. 


BOOK     XL  137 

XV. 

The  sun  refused  the  astronomic  feat ; 

The  earth  declined  to  bake  the  corn  it  grew ; 
King  Mob  then  ordered  that  a  second  riot 

Should  teach  Creation  what  it  had  to  do. 
'-'  The  sun  shines  on,  the  earth  demands  the  tillage, 
Down  Time  and  Nature,  and  hurrah  for  pillage !" 

XVI. 

Then  rise  en  mctsse  the  burghers  of  the  town  ; 

Each  patriot  breast  the  fires  of  Brutus  fill ; 
Gentle  as  lambs  when  riot  reach'd  the  crown. 

They  raged  like  lions  when  it  touch'd  the  till. 
Rush'd  all  who  boasted  of  a  shop  to  rob. 
And  stout  King  Money  soon  dethroned  King  Mob. 

XVII. 

This  done,  much  scandalized  to  note  the  fact, 
That  o'er  the  short  tyrannic  rise  the  tall, 

The  middle-sized  a  penal  law  enact 

That  henceforth  height  must  be  the  same  in  all ; 

For  being  each  born  equal  with  the  other. 

What  greater  crime  than  to  outgrow  your  brother? 

XVIII. 

Poor  Yandals,  do  the  towers,  when  foes  assail, 

So  idlv  soar  above  the  level  wall? 
Harmonious  Order  needs  its  music-scale  ; 

The  Equal  were  the  discord  of  the  All. 
Let  the  wave  undulate,  the  mountain  rise ; 
Nor  ask  from  Law  what  Nature's  self  denies. 


138  KING    ARTHUR. 

XIX. 

0  vagrant  Muse,  deserting  all  too  long, 

Freedom's  grand  war  for  frenzy's  goblin  dream, 

The  hour  runs  on,  and  redemands  from  song. 
And  from  our  Father-land  the  mighty  theme. 

The  Pale  Horse  rushes  and  the  trumpets  swell, 

King  Crida's  hosts  are  storming  Carduel ! 

XX. 

Within  the  inmost  fort  the  pine-trees  made, 
The  hardy  women  kneel  to  warrior  gods. 

For  where  the  Saxons  armaments  invade^ 
All  life  abandons  their  resign'd  abodes. 

The  tents  they  pitch  the  all  they  prize  contain ; 

And  each  new  march  is  for  a  new  domain. 

XXI. 

To  the  stern  gods  the  fair-hair'd  women  kneel, 
As  slow  to  rest  the  red  sun  glides  along; 

And  near  and  far,  hammers,  and  clanking  steel, 
Neighs  from  impatient  barbs,  and  runic  song 

Mutter'd  o'er  mystic  fires  by  wizard  priests, 

Invite  the  Valkyrs  to  the  raven  feasts. 

XXII. 

For  after  nine  long  moons  of  siege  and  storm, 
Thy  hold,  Pendragon,  trembles  to  its  fall ! 

Loftier  the  Roman  tower  uprears  its  form. 

From  the  crush'd  bastion  and  the  shatter'd  wall, 

And  but  till  night  those  iron  floods  delay 

Their  rush  of  thunder: — Blood-red  sinks  the  day. 


BOOK    XI.  i:: 

XXIII. 

Death  halts  to  strike,  and  swift  the  moment  flies : 
Within  the  walls,  (than  all  without  more  fell,) 

Discord  with  Babel  tongues  confounds  the  wise, 
And  spectral  Panic,  like  a  form  of  hell 

Chased  by  a  Fury,  fleets, — or,  stone-like,  stands 

Dull-eyed  Despondence,  palsying  nerveless  hands. 

XXIV. 

And  pride,  that  evil  angel  of  the  Celt, 
Whispers  to  all  "  't  is  servile  to  obey," 

Robs  ordered  Union  of  its  starry  belt. 

Rends  chief  from  chief  and  tribe  from  tribe  away, 

And  leaves  the  children  wrangling  for  command 

Round  the  wild  death-throes  of  the  Father-land. 


XXV. 

In  breadless  marts,  the  ill-persuading  fiend 

Famine,  stalks  maddening  with  her  wolfish  stare ; 

And  hearts,  on  whose  stout  anchors  Faith  had  lean'd, 
Bound  at  her  look  to  treason  from  despair, 

Shouting,  "  Why  shrink  we  from  the  Saxon's  thrall  ? 

Is  slavery  worse  than  Famine  smiting  all  ?" 

XXVI. 

Thus,  in  the  absence  of  the  sunlike  king. 

All  phantoms  stalk  abroad ;  dissolve  and  droop 

Light  and  the  life  of  nations — while  the  wing 
Of  carnage  halts  but  for  its  rushing  swoop. 

Some  moan,  some  rave,  some  laze  the  hours  away ; — 

And  down  from  Carduel  blood-red  sunk  the  day ! 


140  KING     ARTHUR. 

XXVII. 

Leaning  against  a  broken  parapet 

Alone  with  Thought,  mused  Caradoc  the  Bard, 
When  a  voice  smote  him,  and  he  turned  and  met 

A  gaze  prophetic  in  its  sad  regard. 
Beside  him,  solemn  with  his  hundred  years, 
Stood  the  arch  hierarch  of  the  Cymrian  seers. 

XXVIII. 

"  Dost  thou  remember,"  said  the  Sage,  "  that  hour 
When  seeking  signs  to  Glory's  distant  way. 

Thou  heard'st  the  night  bird  in  her  leafy  bower. 
Singing  sweet  death-chaunts  to  her  shining  prey. 

While  thy  young  poet-heart,  with  ravished  breath, 

Hung  on  the  music,  nor  divin'd  the  death  ?"* 

XXIX. 

'•  Ay,"  the  bard  answer'd,  "  and  ev'n  now  methought 
I  heard  again  the  ambrosial  melody !" 

'^  So,"  sigh'd  the  Prophet,  "  to  the  bard,  unsought, 
Come  the  far  whispers  of  Futurity ! 

Like  his  own  harp,  his  soul  a  wind  can  thrill. 

And  the  chord  murmur,  tho'  the  hand  be  still. 

XXX. 

"  Wilt  thou  for  ever,  even  from  the  tomb. 
Live,  yet  a  music,  in  the  hearts  of  all ; 

Arise  and  save  thy  country  from  its  doom ; 
Arise,  Immortal,  at  the  angel's  call ! 

The  hour  shall  give  thee  all  thy  life  implored. 

And  make  the  lyre  more  glorious  than  the  sword. 

•  See  Book  ii ,  pp  67-8,  from  stanza  xxvii.  to  stanza  xxx. 


BOOK    XI.  141 

XXXI. 

"  In  vain  thro'  jon  dull  stupor  of  despair 

Sound  Geraint's  tromp  and  Owaine's  battle  cry ; 

In  vain  where  yon  rude  clamour  storms  the  air, 
The  Council  Chiefs  stem  mad'ning  mutiny ; 

From  Trystan's  mail  the  lion  heart  is  gone. 

And  on  the  breach  stands  Lancelot  alone ! 

XXXIT. 

"  Drivelling  the  wise,  and  impotent  the  strong ; 

Fast  into  ni2:ht  the  life  of  Freedom  dies ; 
Awake,  Light-Bringer,  wake  bright  soul  of  song, 

Kindler,  reviver,  re-creator  rise  ! 
Crown  thy  great  mission  with  thy  parting  breath, 
And  teach  to  hosts  the  Bard's  disdain  of  death !" 

XXXIII. 

Thriird  at  that  voice  the  soul  of  Caradoc ; 

He  heard,  and  knew  his  glory  and  his  doom. 
As  when  in  summer's  noon  the  lightning  shock 

Smites  some  fair  elm  in  all  its  pomp  of  bloom, 
Mid  whose  green  boughs  each  vernal  breeze  had  play'd, 
And  air  s  sweet  race  melodious  homes  had  made  j 

XXXIV. 

So  that  young  life  bow'd  sad  beneath  the  stroke 
That  sear'd  the  Fresh  and  still'd  the  Musical, 

Yet  on  the  sadness  thought  sublimely  broke  : 
Holy  the  tree  on  which  the  bolt  doth  fall ! 

Wild  flowers  shall  spring  the  sacred  roots  around, 

And  nightly  fairies  tread  the  haunted  ground ; 

VOL.  II.  10 


142  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXXV. 

There,  age  by  age,  shall  youth  with  musing  brow, 
Hear  Legend  murmuring  of  the  days  of  3^ore ; 

There,  virgin  love  more  lasting  deem  the  vow. 

Breathed  in  the  shade  of  branches  green  no  more ; 

And  kind  Religion  keep  the  grand  decay 

Still  on  the  earth  while  forests  pass  awa.y. 

XXXVT. 

*'  So  be  it,  0  voice  from  Heaven,"  the  Bard  replied, 
"  Some  grateful  tears  may  yet  enbalm  my  name, 

Ever  for  human  love  my  youth  hath  sigh'd, 
And  human  love's  divinest  form  is  fame. 

Is  the  dream  erring?  shall  the  song  remain  ? 

Say,  can  one  Poet  ever  live  in  vain  ?" 

XXXVII. 

As  the  warm  south  on  some  unfathom'd  sea, 
Along  the  Magian's  soul,  the  awful  rest 

Stirr'd  with  the  soft  emotion  :  tenderly 
He  laid  his  hand  upon  the  brows  he  blest. 

And  said,  "  Complete  beneath  a  brighter  sun 

That  course.  The  Beautiful,  which  life  begun. 

XXXVIII. 

Joyous  and  light,  and  fetterless  thro'  all 

The  blissful,  infinite,  empyreal  space, 
If  then  thy  spirit  stoopeth  to  recall 

The  ray  it  shed  upon  the  human  race, 
See  where  the  ray  had  kindled  from  the  dearth, 
Seeds  that  shall  glad  the  garners  of  the  earth  1 


BOOK    XI.  143 

XXXIX. 

"  Never  true  Poet  lived  and  sung  in  vain ! 

Lost  if  his  name,  and  withered  if  his  wreath, 
The  thoughts  he  woke — an  element  remain 

Fused  in  our  light  and  blended  with  our  breath ; 
All  life  more  noble,  and  all  earth  more  fair, 
Because  that  soul  refined  man's  common  air  !"* 


XL. 


Then  rose  the  Bard,  and  smilingly  unstrung 
His  harp  of  ivory  sheen,  from  shoulders  broad, 

Kissing  the  hand  that  doom'd  his  life,  he  sprung 
Light  from  the  shatter'd  wall, — and  swiftly  strode 

Where,  herdlike  huddled  in  the  central  space, 

Droop'd,  in  dull  pause,  the  cowering  populace. 


XLI. 

There,  in  the  midst  he  stood  !     The  heavens  were  pale 
With  the  first  stars  unseen  amidst  the  glare 

Cast  from  large  pine-brands  on  the  sullen  mail 
Of  listless  legions,  and  the  streaming  hair 

Of  women,  wailing  for  the  absent  dead. 

Or  bow'd  o'er  infant  lips  that  moan'd  for  bread. 


»  Perhaps  it  is  in  this  sense  that  Taliessin  speaks  in  his  mystical  pjem,  called 
"  Taliessin's  History,"  still  extant : 

"I  have  been  an  instructor 
To  the  whole  universe. 
I  shall  remain  till  the  day  of  doom 
On  the  face  of  the  earlh." 


144  KING    ARTHUR. 

XLII. 

From  out  the  illumed  cathedral  hollowly 

Swell'd,  like  a  dirge,  the  hymn  \  and  thro'  the  throng 

Whose  looks  had  lost  all  commerce  with  the  sky, 
With  lifted  rood  the  slow  monks  swept  along, 

And  vanish'd  hopeless  :  From  those  wrecks  of  man 

Fled  ev'n  Religion  : — Then  the  Bard  began. 

.-  XLIII. 

Slow,  pitying,  soft  it  glides,  the  liquid  lay, 
Sad  with  the  burthen  of  the  Singer's  soul ; 

Into  the  heart  it  coil'd  its  lulling  way ; 
Wave  upon  wave  the  golden  river  stole; 

Ilush'd  to  his  feet  forgetful  Famine  crept. 

And  Woe,  reviving,  veil'd  the  eyes  that  wept. 

XLIV. 

Then  stern,  and  harsh,  clash'd  the  ascending  strain, 
Telling  of  ills  more  dismal  yet  in  store ; 

Rough  with  the  iron  of  the  grinding  chain, 
Dire  with  the  curse  of  slavery  evermore  : 

Wild  shrieks  from  lips  beloved  pale  warriors  hear. 

Her  child's  last  death-groan  rends  the  mother's  ear ; 

XLV. 

Then  trembling  hands  instinctive  griped  the  swords ; 

And  men  unquiet  sought  each  other's  eyes ; 
Loud  into  pomp  sonorous  swell  the  chords. 

Like  linked  legions  march  the  melodies ; 
Till  the  full  rapture  swept  the  Bard  along, 
And  o'er  the  listeners  rushed  the  storm  of  song ! 


BOOK    XL  145 

XLVI. 

And  the  Dead  spoke  !     From  cairns  and  kingly  graves 
The  Heroes  call'd ; — and  Saints  from  earliest  shrines ; 

And  the  Land  spoke  ! — Mellifluous  river-waves ; 
Dim  forests  awful  with  the  roar  of  pines ; 

Mysterious  caves  from  legend-haunted  deeps; 

And  torrents  flashing  from  untrodden  steeps ; — 


XLVIT. 

The  Land  of  Freedom  call'd  upon  the  Free ! 

All  Nature  spoke ;  the  clarions  of  the  wind ; 
The  organ  swell  of  the  majestic  sea; 

The  choral  stars;  the  Universal  Mind 
Spoke,  like  the  voice  from  which  the  world  hegan, 
"  No  chain  for  Nature  and  the  Soul  of  Man !" 


XL  VIII. 

Then  loud  thro'  all,  as  if  mankind's  reply, 

Burst  from  the  Bard  the  Cymrian  battle  hymn  ! 

That  song  which  swell'd  the  anthems  of  the  Sky, 
The  Alleluia  of  the  Seraphim ; 

When  Saints  led  on  the  Children  of  the  Lord, 

And  smote  the  heathen  with  the  Angel's  sword.* 

•  The  Bishops,  Gerrnanus  and  Lupus,  having  baptized  the  Britons  in  the  River 
Alyn,  led  them  against  the  Picts  and  Saxons,  to  the  cry  of  "Alleluia."  The  cry 
itself,  uttered  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  the  Christian  host,  struck  terror  into  the 
enemy,  who  at  once  took  to  flight.  Most  of  those  who  escaped  the  sword  perished  in 
the  river.  This  victory,  achieved  at  Maes  Garmon,  was  called  "  Victoria  Alleluiatica." 
Brit.  Eccles.  Axxia-,  335 ;  Btn.,  lib   i.,  c.  i  ,  20. 


146  KING    ARTHUR. 

XLIX. 

As  leaps  the  warfire  on  the  beacon  hills, 
Leapt  in  each  heart  the  lofty  flame  divine ; 

As  into  sunlight  flash  the  molten  rills, 

Flash'd  the  glad  claymores,*  lightening  line  on  line ; 

From  cloud  to  cloud  as  thunder  speeds  along, 

From  rank  to  rank — rush'd  forth  the  choral  song. — 

Woman  and  child — all  caught  the  fire  of  men, 

To  its  own  heaven  that  Alleluia  rang, 
Life  to  the  spectres  had  returned  agen ! 

And  from  the  grave  an  armed  Nation  sprang ! 
Then  spoke  the  Bard, — each  crest  its  plumage  bow'd, 
As  the  large  voice  went  lengthening  thro'  the  crowd. 

LI. 

'^  Hark  to  the  measured  march  ! — The  Saxons  come  ! 

The  sound  earth  quails  beneath  the  hollow  tread ! 
Your  fathers  rush'd  upon  the  swords  of  Rome 

And  climb'd  her  war-ships — when  the  Caesar  fled ! 
The  Saxons  come !  why  wait  within  the  wall  ? 
They  scale  the  mountain  : — let  its  torrents  fall ! 

LIT. 

"  Mark,  ye  have  swords,  and  shields,  and  armour,  ye  ! 

No  mail  defends  the  Cymrian  Child  of  Song,-}- 
But  where  the  warrior — there  the  Bard  shall  be ! 

All  fields  of  glory  to  the  Bard  belong ! 
His  realm  extends  wherever  god-like  strife 
Spurns  the  base  death,  and  wins  immortal  life. 

•  "The  claymore  of  the  Highlanders  of  Scotland  was  no  other  than  the  cledd 
mawr  (cle'mawr)  of  the  Welch."     (JrMnonouioN,  vol.  ii ,  p   106. 

t  J\o  Cymrian  bard,  according  to  the  primitive  law,  was  allowed  the  use  of 
weapons. 


BOOK     XI.  147 

LIII. 

*'  Unarmed  he  goes — his  guard  the  shields  of  all, 
Where  he  bounds  foremost  on  the  Saxon  spear ! 

Unarmed  he  goes,  that,  falling,  ev'n  his  fall 

Shall  bring  no  shame,  and  shall  bequeath  no  fear ! 

Does  the  song  cease  ? — avenge  it  by  the  deed, 

And  make  the  sepulchre — a  nation  freed !" 

LIV. 

He  said,  and  where  the  chieftains  wrangling  sate, 
Led  the  grand  army  marshall'd  by  his  song ; 

Into  the  hall — and  on  the  wild  debate, 

King  of  all  kings,  A  People,  poured  along ; 

And  from  the  heart  of  man — the  trumpet  cry 

Smote  faction  down^  "  Arms,  arms,  and  liberty !" 

LV, 

Meanwhile  roU'd  on  the  Saxon's  long  array ; 

On  to  the  wall  the  surge  of  slaughter  roll'd ; 
Slow  up  the  mount — slow  heaved  its  awful  way ; 

The  moonlight  rested  on  the  domes  of  gold ; 
No  warder  peals  alarum  from  the  Keep, 
And  Death  comes  mute,  as  on  the  realm  of  Sleep ; 

LVI. 

When,  as  their  ladders  touch'd  the  ruined  wall. 
And  to  the  van,  high-towering,  Harold  strode, 

Sudden  expand  the  brazen  gates,  and  all 
The  awful  arch  as  with  the  lava  glow'd ; 

Torch  upon  torch  the  deathful  sweep  illumes, 

The  burst  of  armour  and  the  flash  of  plumes ! 


148  KING    ARTHUR. 

LVII. 

Kings  0\vaine's  shout ; — rings  Geraint's  tlmnder-cry ; 

The  Saxon's  death-knell  in  a  hundred  wars ; 
And  Cador's  laugh  of  joy ; — rush  through  the  sky 

Bright  tossing  banderolls — swift  as  shooting  stars. — 
Try  Stan's  white  lion — Lancelot's  cross  of  red. 
And  Tudor's*  standard  with  the  Saxon's  head. 

LVIII. 

And  high  o'er  all,  its  scaled  splendour  rears 
The  vengeful  emblem  of  the  Dragon  Kings. 

Full  on  the  Saxon  bursts  the  storm  of  spears ; 
Far  down  the  vale  the  charging  whirlwind  rings ; 

While  thro'  the  ranks  its  barbed  knighthood  clave, 

All  Carduel  follows  with  its  roaring  wave. 

LIX. 

And  ever  in  the  van,  with  robes  of  white 
And  ivory  harp,  shone  swordless  Caradoc ! 

And  ever  floated  in  melodious  night. 

The  clear  song  buoyant  o'er  the  battle  shock ; 

Calm  as  an  eagle  when  the  Olympian  King 

Sends  the  red  bolt  upon  the  tranquil  wing. 

LX. 

Borne  back,  and  wedged  within  the  ponderous  weight 
Of  their  own  jarr'd  and  multitudinous  crowd, 

Eecoifd  the  Saxons !  As  adown  the  height 
Of  some  gray  mountain,  rolls  the  cloven  cloud, 

Smit  by  the  shafts  of  the  resistless  day, — 

Down  to  the  vale  sunk  dun  the  rent  array. 

*  The  old  arms  of  the  Tudors  were  three  Saxons'  heads. 


BOOK    XI.  149 

LXI. 

Midway  between  the  camp  and  Carduel, 

Halting  their  slow  retreat,  the  Saxons  stood ; 

There  as  the  wall-like  ocean  ere  it  fell 

On  Egypt's  chariots,  gathered  up  the  flood ; 

There,  in  suspended  deluge,  solid  rose, 

And  hung  expectant  o'er  the  hurrying  foes ! 

LXTf. 

Right  in  the  centre,  rampired  round  with  shields, 
King  Crida  stood, — o'er  him,  its  livid  mane 

The  horse  whose  pasture  is  the  Valkyr's  fields 

Flung  wide; — but,  foremost  thro'  the  javelin-rain, 

Blazed  Harold's  helm,  as  when,  thro'  all  the  stars 

Distinct,  pale  soothsayers  see  the  dooming  Mars. 

LXIIT. 

Down  dazzling  sweeps  the  Cymrian  Chivalry ; 

Round  the  bright  sweep  closes  the  Saxon  wall ; 
Snatch'd  from  the  glimmer  of  the  funeral  sky. 

Raves  the  blind  murder;    and  enclasp'd  with  all 
Its  own  stern  hell,  against  the  iron  bar 
Pants  the  fierce  heart  of  the  imprisoned  War. 

LXIV. 

Only  b}^  gleaming  banners  and  the  flash 

Of  some  large  sword,  the  vex'd  Obscure  once  more 

Sparkled  to  light.     In  one  tumultuous  clash 

Merged  every  sound — as  when  the  maelstrom's  roar 

By  dire  Lofoden,  dulls  the  seaman's  groan. 

And  drowns  the  voice  of  tempests  in  its  OAvn. 


150  KING     ARTHUR. 

LXV. 

The  Cymrian  ranks, — disparted  from  their  van, 

And  their  hemm'd  horsemen, — stubborn,  but  in  vain, 

Press  thro'  the  levelled  spears  j  yet,  man  by  man. 
And  shield  to  shield  close-serried,  they  sustain 

The  sleeting  hail  against  them  hurtling  sent 

From  every  cloud  in  that  dread  armament. 

LXVI. 

But  now,  at  length,  cleaving  the  solid  clang, 
And  o'er  the  dead  men  in  their  frowning  sleep, 

The  rallying  shouts  of  chiefs  confronted  rang 

"  Thor  and  Walhalla !" — answered  swift  and  deep 

By  "  Alleluia !"  and  thy  chaunted  cry, 

Young  Bard  sublime,  "  For  Christ  and  Liberty !" 

LXVII. 

Then  the  ranks  opened,  and  the  midnight  moon 
Streamed  where  the  battle,  like  the  scornful  main 

Ebb'd  from  the  dismal  wrecks  its  WTath  had  strown. 
Paused  either  host ; — lo,  in  the  central  plain 

Two  chiefs  had  met,  and  in  that  breathless  pause, 

Each  to  its  champion  left  a  Nation's  cause. 

LXVIII. 

Now,  heaven  defend  thee,  noble  Lancelot ! 

For  never  yet  such  danger  thee  befell, 
Tho'  loftier  deeds  than  thine  emblazon  not 

The  peerless  Twelve  of  golden  Carduel, 
Tho'  oft  thy  breast  hath  singly  stemm'd  a  field, — 
As  when  thy  claymore  clanged  on  Harold's  shield ! 


BOOK    XI.  151 

LXIX. 

And  Lancelot  knew  not  his  majestic  foe, 
Save  by  his  deeds ;  by  Cador's  cloven  crest ; 

By  Modred's  corpse ;  by  rills  of  blood  below, 

And  shrinking  helms  above ; — when  from  the  rest 

Spurring, — the  steel  of  his  uplifted  brand 

Drew  down  the  lightning  of  that  red  right  hand. 

LXX. 

Full  on  the  Saxon's  shield  the  sword  descends ; 

The  strong  shield  clattering  shivers  at  the  stroke, 
And  the  bright  crest  with  all  its  plumage  bends. 

As  to  the  blast  with  all  its  boughs  an  oak : 
As  from  the  blast  an  oak  with  all  its  boughs, 
Re  towering  slow,  the  crest  sublime  arose. 

LXXI. 

Grasp'd  with  both  hands,  above  the  Cymrian  swung 
The  axe  that  Woden  taught  his  sons  to  wield, 

Tlirice  thro'  the  air  the  circling  iron  sang, 

Thencrash'd  resounding: — horse  and  horseman  reel'd, 

Tho'  slant  from  sword  and  casque  the  weapon  shore, 

Down  sword  and  casque  the  weight  resistless  bore. 

LXXII. 

The  bright  plume  mingles  with  the  charger's  mane ; 

Light  leaves  the  heaven,  and  sense  forsakes  the  breath; 
Aloft  the  axe  impatient  whirrs  again, — 

The  steed  wild-snorting  bounds  and  foils  the  death ; 
While  on  its  neck  the  reins  unheeded  flow. 
It  shames  and  saves  its  Lord,  and  flies  the  foe. 


152  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXIII. 

"  Lo,  Saxons,  lo,  what  chiefs  these  Walloons*  lead !" 
Laugh'd  hollow  from  his  helm  the  scornful  Thane. 

Then  towards  the  Christian  knights  he  spurr'd  his  steed 
When  midway  in  his  rush — rushes  again 

The  foe  that  rallied  while  he  seemed  to  fly, 

As  wheels  the  falcon  ere  it  swoops  from  high ; — 

LXXIV. 

And  as  the  falcon,  while  its  talons  dart 

Into  the  crane's  broad  bosom,  splits  its  own 

On  the  sharp  beak,  and,  clinging  heart  to  heart, 
Both  in  one  plumage  blent,  spin  whirling  down, — 

So  in  that  shock  each  found,  and  dealt  the  blow ; 

Horse  roll'd  on  horse,  fell  grappling  foe  on  foe. 

LXXV. 

First  to  his  feet  the  slighter  Cymrian  leapt. 
And  on  the  Saxon's  breast  set  firm  his  knee ; 

Then  o'er  the  heathen  host  a  shudder  crept. 
Rose  all  their  voices, — wild  and  wailingly; 

"  Woe,  Harold,  woe !"  as  from  one  bosom  came, 

The  groan  of  thousands,  and  the  mighty  name. 

LXXVI. 

The  Cymrian  starts,  and  stays  his  lifted  hand, 
For  at  that  name  from  Harold's  visor  shone 

Genevra's  eyes !     Back  in  its  sheath  the  brand 

He  plung'd : — sprang  Harold — and  the  foe  was  gone, — 

Lost  where  the  Saxons  rush'd  along  the  plain, 

To  save  the  livinor  or  avensre  the  slain. 

•   Walloons, — the  name  given  by  the  Saxons,  in  contumely,  to  the  Cymrians. 


BOOK    XI.  153 

LXXVII. 

Spurr'd  to  the  rescue  every  Cymrian  knight, 
Again  confused,  the  onslaught  raged  on  high ; 

Again  the  war-shout  swell'd  above  the  fight, 
Again  the  chaunt  "  for  Christ  and  Liberty/' 

When  with  fresh  hosts  unbreathed,  the  Saxon  king 

Forth  from  the  wall  of  shields  leapt  thundering. 

LXXVIII. 

Behind  the  chief  the  dreadful  gonfanon 

Spread ; — the  Pale  Horse  went  rushing  down  the  wind. 
^'  On  where  the  Valkyrs  rest  on  Carduel,  on ! 

On  o'er  the  corpses  to  the  wolf  consign'd ! 
On,  that  the  Pale  Horse,  ere  the  night  be  o'er, 
Stall'd  in  yon  tower,  may  rest  his  hoofs  of  gore  !" 

LXXIX. 

Thus  spoke  the  king  and  all  his  hosts  replied ; 

Fill'd  by  his  sword  and  kindled  by  his  look — 
For  helmless  with  his  gray  hair  streaming  wide. 

He  strided  thro'  the  spears — the  mountains  shook — 
Shook  the  dim  city — as  that  answer  rang ! 
The  fierce  shout  chiming  to  the  buckler's  clang ! 

LXXX. 

Aghast  the  Cymrians  see,  like  Titan  sons 

New-born  from  earth, — leap  forth  the  sudden  bands : 

As  when  the  wind's  invisible  tremor  runs 

Thro'  corn-sheaves  ripening  for  the  reaper's  hands, 

The  glittering  tumult  undulating  flows. 

And  the  field  quivers  where  the  panic  goes. 


154  KING     ARTHUR. 

LXXXI. 

Tlie  Cymrians  waver — shrink — recoil — give  w^y, 
Strike  with  weak  hands  amazed ;  half  turn  to  flee ; 

In  vain  with  knightly  charge  the  chiefs  delay 
The  hostile  mass  that  rolls  resistlessly, 

And  the  pale  hoofs  for  aye  had  trampled  down 

The  Cymrian  freedom  and  the  Dragon  Crown, 

LXXXII. 

But  for  that  arch  preserver, — under  heaven 

Of  names  and  states,  the  Bard !  the  hour  was  come 

To  prove  the  ends  for  which  the  lyre  was  given  : — 
Each  thought  divine  demands  its  martyrdom. 

Where  round  the  central  standard  rallying  flock 

The  Dragon  Chiefs — paused  and  spoke  Caradoc ! 

LXXXIII. 

''  Ye  Cymrian  men  !"    Hushed  at  the  calm  sweet  sound, 
Droop'd  the  wild  murmur,  bow'd  the  loftiest  crest, 

Meekly  the  haughty  paladins  group'd  round 
The  s wordless  hero  with  the  mailless  breast. 

Whose  front,  serene  amid  the  spears,  had  taught 

To  humbled  Force  the  chivalry  of  Thought. 

LXXXI  V. 

'^  Ye  Cymrian  men — from  Heus  the  Guardian's  tomb 
I  speak  the  oracular  j^romise  of  the  Past. 

Fear  not  the  Saxon  !     Till  the  judgment  doom. 
Free  on  their  hills  the  Dragon  race  shall  last. 

If  from  yon  heathen,  ye  this  night  can  save 

One  spot  not  wider  than  a  single  grave. 


BOOK    XI.  155 

LXXXV. 

"  For  thus  the  antique  prophecy's  decree, — 

'  When  where  the  Pale  Horse  crushes  down  the  dead, 

War's  sons  shall  see  the  lonely  child  of  peace 
Grasp  at  the  mane  to  fall  beneath  the  tread — 

There  where  he  falleth  let  his  dust  remain. 

There  bid  the  Dragon  rest  above  the  slain ; 

LXXXVI. 

"  '  There  let  the  steel-clad  living  watch  the  clay, 
Till  on  that  spot  their  swords  the  grave  have  made. 

And  the  Pale  Horse  shall  melt  in  cloud  away, 
No  stranger's  steps  the  sacred  mound  invade : 

A  people's  life  that  single  death  shall  save, 

And  all  the  land  be  hallowed  by  the  grave/ 

Lxxxvir. 
''  So  be  the  Guardian's  prophecy  fulfill'd, 

Advance  the  Dragon,  for  the  grave  is  mine." 
He  ceased ;  while  yet  the  silver  accents  thrill'd 

Each  mailed  bosom  down  the  listening  line 
Bounded  his  steed,  and  like  an  arrow  went 
His  plume,  swift  glancing  thro'  the  armament. 

LXXXVIII. 

On  thro'  the  tempest  went  it  glimmering. 

On  thro'  the  rushing  barbs  and  levelled  spears ; 

On  where,  far  streaming  o'er  the  Teuton  king. 
Its  horrent  pomp  the  ghastly  standard  rears. 

On  rush'd  to  rescue  all  to  whom  his  breath 

Left  what  saves  Nations, — the  disdain  of  death  ! 


156  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXXIX. 

Alike  the  loftiest  kniglit  and  meanest  man, 
All  the  roused  host,  but  now  so  panic  chill'd, 

All  Cymri  once  more  as  one  Cymrian, 

With  the  last  light  of  that  grand  spirit  fill'd, 

Thro'  rank  on  rank,  mow'd  down,  down  trampled,  sped, 

And  reach'd  the  standard — to  defend  the  dead. 

xc. 

Wrench'd  from  the  heathen's  hand,  one  moment  bow'd 
In  the  bright  Christian's  grasp  the  gonfanon ; 

Then  from  a  dumb  amaze  the  countless  crowd 
Swept, — and  the  night  as  with  a  sudden  sun 

Flash'd  with  avenging  steel ;  life  gained  its  goal, 

And  calm  from  lips  proud-smiling  went  the  soul ! 

XCI. 

Leapt  from  his  selle,  the  king-born  Lancelot ; 

Leapt  from  the  selle  each  paladin  and  knight ; 
In  one  mute  sign  that  where  upon  that  spot 

The  foot  was  planted,  God  forbade  the  liight : 
There  shall  the  Father-land  avenge  the  son. 
Or  heap  all  Cymri  round  the  grave  of  one. 

XCII. 

Then,  well  nigh  side  by  side — broad  floated  forth 
The  Cymrian  Dragon  and  the  Teuton  Steed, 

The  rival  Powers  that  struffole  for  the  north ; 
The  gory  Idol — the  chivahic  Creed; 

Odin's  and  Christ's  confronting  flags  unfurl'd. 

As  which  should  save  and  which  destroy  a  world ! 


BOOK    XT.  157 

XCIIT. 

Then  fought  those  Cymrian  men,  as  if  on  each 
All  Cymri  set  its  last  undaunted  hope; 

Thro'  the  steel  bulwarks  round  them  vawns  the  breach ; 
Vistas  to  freedom  brightening  onwards  ope ; 

Crida  in  vain  leads  band  on  slaughtered  band, 

In  vain  revived  falls  Harold's  ruthless  hand ; 

xciv. 

As  on  the  bull  the  pard  will  fearless  bound, 

But  if  the  horn  that  meets  the  spring  should  gore, 

Awed  with  fierce  pain,  slinks  snarling  from  the  ground ; 
So  baffled  in  their  midmost  rush,  before 

The  abrupt  assault,  the  savage  hosts  give  way, 

Yet  will  not  own  that  man  could  thus  dismay. 

xcv. 
'^  Some  God  more  mighty  than  Walhalla's  king. 

Strikes  in  yon  arms" — the  sullen  murmurs  run. 
And  fast  and  faster  drives  the  Dragon  wing — 

And  shrinks  and  cowers  the  ghastly  gonfanon, 
They  flag — they  falter — lo,  the  Saxons  lly  ! — 
Lone  rests  the  Dragon  in  the  dawning  sky ! 

xcvi. 
Lone  rests  the  Dragon  with  its  wings  outspread. 

Where  the  pale  hoofs  one  holy  ground  had  trod, 
There  the  hush'd  victors  round  the  martyr'd  dead, 

As  round  an  altar,  lift  their  hearts  to  God. 
Calm  is  that  brow  as  when  a  host  it  braved, 
And  smiles  that  lip  as  on  the  land  it  saved ! 

VOL    II.  H 


158  KIXG    ARTHUR. 

XCVII. 

Pardon,  ye  shrouded  and  mysterious  Powers, 
Ye  fixr  off  shadows  from  the  spirit-cUme, 

K  for  that  reahii  untrodden  by  the  Hours, 
Awhile  we  leave  this  lazar  house  of  Time ; 

With  Song  remounting  to  those  native  airs 

Of  which  tho'  exiled,  still  we  are  the  heirs. 

XCVIII. 

Up  from  the  clay  and  towards  the  Seraphim, 
The  Immortal,  men  call'd  Caradoc,  arose. 

Round  the  freed  captive  whose  melodious  hymn 

Had  haifd  each  glimmer  earth,  the  dungeon,  knows. 

Spread  all  the  aisles  by  angel  worship  trod ; 

Blazed  every  altar  conscious  of  the  God. 

XCIX. 

All  the  illumed  creation  one  calm  shrine ; 

All  space  one  rapt  adoring  extasy; 
All  the  sweet  stars  with  their  untroubled  shine, 

Near  and  more  near  enlarging  thro'  the  sky ; 
All  opening  gradual  on  the  eternal  sight, 
Joy  after  joy,  the  depths  of  their  delight. 

c. 
Paused  on  the  marge.  Heaven's  beautiful  New-born, 

Paused  on  the  marge  of  that  wide  happiness ; 
And  as  a  lark  that,  poised  amid  the  morn. 

Shakes  from  its  wing  the  dews, — the  plumes  of  bliss, 
Sunned  in  the  dawn  of  the  diviner  birth. 
Shook  every  sorrow  memory  bore  from  eartli ; 


BOOK    XI.  159 

CI. 

Knowledge  (tliat  on  the  troubled  waves  of  sense 
Breaks  into  sparkles) — poured  upon  the  soul 

Its  lambent,  clear,  translucent  affluence, 

And  cold-eyed  Keason  loosed  its  hard  control ; 

Each  godlike  guess  beheld  the  truth  it  sought ; 

And  inspiration  flash'd  from  what  was  thought. 

CII. 

Still  evermore  the  old  familiar  train 

That  fill  the  frail  Proscenium  of  our  deeds, 

The  unquiet  actors  on  that  stage,  the  brain, 
Which,  in  the  spangles  of  their  tinsell'd  weeds, 

Mime  the  true  soul's  majestic  royalties. 

And  strut  august  in  Wonders  credulous  eyes ; — 

cm. 

Ambition,  Envy,  Pride,  those  false  desires 
For  a  true  bourne  which  is — but  not  in  life ; 

x\nd  human  Passion  that  with  meteor  fires 

Lures  from  the  star  it  simulates ;  Wisdom's  strife  ; 

With  its  own  Angel,  Faith ; — that  nurse  of  Grief, 

Hope,  crown'd  with  flowers,  a  blight  in  every  leaf; 

CIV. 

All  these  are  still — abandoned  to  the  worm. 
Their  loud  breath  jars  not  on  the  calm  above; 

Only  survived,  as  if  the  single  germ 

Of  the  new  life's  ambrosian  being, — love. 

Ah,  if  the  bud  can  give  such  bloom  to  Time, 

What  is  the  flower  when  in  its  native  clime  ? 


160  KING    ARTHUR. 

cv. 

Love  to  the  radiant  Stranger  left  alone 

Of  all  the  vanish'd  hosts  of  memory ; 
Vf  liile  broadening  round,  on  splendour  splendour  shone, 

To  earth  soft-pitying  dropt  the  veilless  eye, 
And  saw  the  shape,  that  love  remembered  still, 
Couch'd  mid  the  ruins  on  the  moonlit  hill. 

CVT. 

And,  with  the  new-born  vision  piercing  all 

Things  past  and  future,  view'd  the  fates  ordain'd ; 

The  fame  achieved  amidst  the  Coral  Hall ; 

From  war  and  winter  Freedom's  symbol  gained, 

Yf  hat  rests  ? — the  sj)irit  from  its  realm  of  bliss. 

Shot,  loving  down, — the  guide  to  Happiness ! 

CVII. 

Pale  to  the  Cymrian  king  the  Shadow  came, 

Its  glory  left  it  as  the  earth  it  neared. 
In  livid  likeness  as  its  corpse  the  same. 

Wan  with  its  wounds  the  awful  ghost  appeared. 
Life  heard  the  voice  of  unembodied  breath. 
And  Sleep  stood  trembling  side  by  side  with  Death. 

cvni. 
"  Come,"  said  the  voice,  "  Before  the  Iron  Gate 

Which  hath  no  egress,  waiting  thee,  behold 
Under  the  shadow  of  the  brows  of  Fate, 

The  childHke  playmate  with  the  locks  of  gold." 
Then  rose  the  mortal  following,  and,  before, 
Moved  the  pale  shape  the  angel's  comrade  wore. 


BOOK     XI.  161 

cix. 
Where,  in  the  centre  of  those  ruins  gray, 

Immense  with  blind  walls  columnless,  a  tomb 
For  earlier  kings,  whose  names  had  passed  away, 

Chill'd  the  chill  moonlight  with  its  mass  of  gloom ; 
Thro'  doors  ajar  to  every  prying  blast 
By  which  to  rot  imperial  dust  had  past, 

ex. 
The  vision  went,  and  went  the  living  king ; 

Then  strange  and  hard  to  human  ear  to  tell 
By  language  moulded  but  by  thoughts  that  bring 

Material  images,  what  there  befell  ! 
The  mortal  entered  Eld's  dumb  burial  place. 
And  at  the  threshold  vanished  time  and  space ! 

CXI. 

Yea,  the  hard  sense  of  time  was  from  the  mind 
Rased  and  annihilate ; — yea,  space  to  eye 

And  soul  was  presenceless  ?     What  rest  behind  ? 
Thought  and  the  Infinite  !  the  eternal  I, 

And  its  true  realm  the  Limitless,  whose  brink 

Thought  ever  nears :  What  bounds  us  when  we  think  ? 

CXII. 

Yea,  as  the  dupe  in  tales  Arabian, 

Dipp'd  but  his  brow  beneath  the  beaker's  brim, 
And  in  that  instant  all  the  life  of  man 

From  youth  to  age  roll'd  its  slow  years  on  him, 
And  while  the  foot  stood  motionless — the  soul 
Swept  with  deliberate  wing  from  pole  to  pole, 


162  KING    ARTHUR. 

CXIII. 

So  when  the  man  the  graves  still  portals  pass'd, 
Closed  on  the  substances  or  cheats  of  earth, 

The  Immaterial  for  the  things  it  glass'd, 

Sliaped  a  new  vision  from  the  matter's  dearth: 

Before  the  sight  that  saw  not  thro'  the  clay. 

The  undefined  Immeasurable  lay. 

CXIV. 

A  realm  not  land,  nor  sea,  nor  earth,  nor  sky. 
Like  air  impalpable,  and  yet  not  air ; — 

"  Where  am  I  led  ?"  asked  Life  with  hollow  sigh. 
"  To  Death,  that  dim  phantasmal  Every  where," 

Answered  the  Ghost.     "  Nature's  circumfluent  robe 

Girding  all  life — the  globule  of  the  globe." 

cxv. 

'^  Yet,"  said  the  Mortal,  "  if  indeed  this  breath 
Profane  the  w^orld  that  lies  beyond  the  tomb; 

Where  is  the  Spirit-race  that  peoples  death  ? 
My  soul  surveys  but  unsubstantial  gloom, 

A  void — a  Ijlank — where  none  preside  or  dwell, 

Nor  woe  nor  bliss  is  here,  nor  heaven  nor  hell." 

ex  VI. 

"  And  what  is  death  ? — a  name  for  nothingness,"* 
Replied  the  Dead ;  "  The  shadow  of  a  shade  ; 

Death  can  retain  no  spirit ! — w^oe  and  bliss, 
And  heaven  and  hell,  are  for  the  living  made ; 

An  instant  flits  between  life's  latest  sigh 

And  life's  renewal ; — that  it  is  to  die  ! 

*  The  suMime  idea  of  the  noncnity  of  deatli,  of  the  instantaneous  transit  of  the 
soul  from  one  phase  or  cycle  of  being  to  another,  is  earnestly  insisted  upon  hy  the 
early  Cymriau  baids  in  term&  which  seem  borrowed  from  some  spiritual  belief  an- 


-      BOOK    XI.  1G8 

CXVII. 

"  From  the  brief  Here  to  the  eternal  There, 
We  can  but  see  the  swift  flash  of  the  goal ; 

Less  than  the  space  between  two  weaves  of  air, 
The  void  between  existence  and  a  soul ; 

Wherefore  look  forth ;  and  wdth  calm  sight  endure 

The  vague,  impalpable,  inane  Obscure  : 

CXVIII. 

Lo,  by  the  Iron  Gate  a  giant  cloud 

From  which  emerge  (the  form  itself  unseen) 

Vast  adamantine  browns  sublimely  bow'd 
Over  the  dark, — relentlessly  serene ; 

Thou  canst  not  view  the  hand  beneath  the  fold, 

The  work  it  w^eaveth  none  but  God  behold. 

CXIX. 

^'  Yet  ever  from  this  Nothingness  of  Death, 

That  hand  shapes  out  the  myriad  pomps  of  life ; 

Receives  the  matter  when  resign'd  the  breath, 
Calms  into  Law  the  Elemental  strife. 

On  each  still'd  atom  forms  afresh  bestows ; 

(No  atom  lost  since  first  Creation  rose.) 

cxx. 

"  Thus  seen,  what  men  call  Nature,  thou  surveyest. 
But  matter  boundeth  not  the  still  one's  power , 

Li  every  deed  its  presence  thou  displayest, 

It  prompts  each  impulse,  guides  each  wdnged  hour, 

It  spells  the  Valkyrs  to  their  gory  loom. 

It  calls  the  blessing  from  the  bane  they  doom : 

lerior  to  that  which  does  in  truth  teach  that  the  Ufe  of  man  once  begun,  has  not 
only  no  end,  but  no  pause  —  and,  in  the  triumjihal  or}-  of  the  Christian,  '•  O  Grave 
where  is  thy  victory  ?" — annihilates  death. 


164  KING     ARTHUR. 

cxxi. 

^'  It  rides  the  steed,  it  saileth  with  the  bark, 
Wafts  the  first  corn-seed  to  the  herbless  wild, 

Alike  directing  thro'  the  doom  of  dark. 

The  age-long  Nature  and  the  new-born  child ; 

Here  the  dread  Power,  yet  loftier  tasks  await. 

And  Nature,  twofold,  takes  the  name  of  Fate. 

CXXII. 

^'  Nature  or  Fate,  Matter's  material  life. 

Or  to  all  spirit  the  si)iritual  guide, 
Alike  with  one  harmonious  being  rife. 

Form  but  the  whole  which  only  names  divide ; 
Fate's  crushing  power,  or  Nature's  gentle  skill. 
Alike  one  Good — from  one  all  loving  Will." 

CXXIII. 

While  thus  the  Shade  benign  instructs  the  King, 
Near  the  dark  cloud  the  still  brows  bended  o'er, 

They  come  :  A  soft  wind  with  continuous  wing 
Sighs  thro'  the  gloom  and  trembles  thro'  the  door, 

^^  Hark  to  that  air,"  the  gentle  phantom  said, 

*'  In  each  faint  murmur  flit  unseen  the  dead, — 

cxxiv. 

"  Pass  thro'  the  gate,  from  life  the  life  resume. 
As  the  old  impulse  flies  to  heaven  or  hell." 

While  spoke  the  Ghost,  stood  forth  amidst  the  gloom, 
A  lucent  Image,  crowned  with  asphodell, 

The  left  hand  bore  a  mirror  crystal-bright, 

A  wand  star-pointed  glittered  in  the  right. 


BOOK    XI.  165 

cxxv. 

"  Dost  thou  not  know  me  ? — me,  thy  second  soul  ? 

Dost  thou  not  know  me,  Arthur  ?"  said  the  Voice ; 
"  I  who  have  led  thee  to  each  noble  goal, 

Mirror'd  thy  heart,  and  starward  led  thy  choice  ? 
To  each  thee  wisdom  won  in  Labour's  school, 
I  lured  thy  footsteps  to  the  forest  pool, 

cxxvi. 

"  ShoAved  all  the  woes  which  wait  inebriate  power. 
And  woke  the  man  from  youth's  voluptuous  dream ; 

Glass'd  on  the  crystal — let  each  stainless  hour 
Obey  the  wand  I  lift  unto  the  beam ; 

And  at  the  last,  when  yonder  gates  expand. 

Pass  with  thy  Guardian  Angel;  hand  in  hand." 

CXXVII. 

Spoke  the  sweet  Splendour,  and  as  music  dies 
Into  the  heart  that  hears,  subsides  away, 

Then  Arthur  lifted  his  serenest  eyes 

Towards  the  pale  Shade  from  the  celestial  day, 

And  said,  "  0  thou  in  life  beloved  so  well, 

Dream  I  or  wake  ? — As  those  last  accents  fell, 

CXXVIII. 

"  So  fears  that,  spite  of  thy  mild  words,  dismay'd, 
Fears  not  of  death,  but  that  which  death  conceals, 

Vanish ; — my  soul  that  trembled  at  thy  shade. 
Yearns  to  the  far  light  which  the  shade  reveals. 

And  sees  how  human  is  the  dismal  error 

That  hideth  God,  when  veiling  death  with  terror. 


166  KING    ARTHUR. 

cxxix. 

'^  Ev'n  thus  some  infant,  in  the  earlj''  spring, 
Under  the  pale  buds  of  the  abiiond  tree, 

Shrinks  from  the  wind  that  with  an  icy  wing 

Shakes  showering  down  white  flakes  that  seem  to  he 

Winter's  w\an  sleet, — till  the  quick  sunbeam  shows 

That  those  were  blossoms  which  he  took  for  snows. 

cxxx. 

"  Thou  to  this  last  and  sovran  mystery 
Of  my  mysterious  travail  guiding  sent, 

Dear  as  thou  wert,  I  will  not  mourn  for  thee. 

Thou  w^ert  not  shaped  for  earth's  hard  element — 

Our  ends,  our  aims,  our  pleasure,  and  our  woe. 

Thou  knew'st  them  all,  but  thine  we  could  not  know. 

cxxxi. 

^^  Forgive  that  none  were  worthy  of  thy  worth  ! 

That  none  took  heed  upon  the  plodding  way. 
What  diamond  dcAv  was  on  the  flowers  of  earth. 

Till  in  thy  soul  drawn  upw^ard  to  the  day. 
But  now,  why  gape  the  wounds  uj^on  thy  breast  ? 
What  guilty  hand  dismissed  thee  to  the  blest  ? 

CXXXII. 

^'  For  blest  thou  art,  beloved  and  lost  ?     Oh,  speak , 
Say  thou  art  with  the  Angels  ?" — As  at  night 

Far  off  the  pharos  on  the  mountain  peak 
Sends  o'er  dim  ocean  one  pale  path  of  light, 

Lost  in  the  wideness  of  the  weltering  Sea, 

So,  that  one  gleam  along  eternity 


BOOK    XI.  167 

CXXXIII. 

Youclisafed,  the  radiant  guide  (its  mission  closed) 
Fled,  and  the  mortal  stood  amidst  the  cloud ! 

All  dark  above, — lo  at  his  feet  reposed 

Beneath  the  Brow's  still  terror  o'er  it  bow'd, 

With  eyes  that  lit  the  gloom  thro'  which  they  smiled 

A  Virgin  shape^  half  woman  and  half  child  ! 

cxxxiv. 
There,  bright  before  the  iron  gates  of  Death, 

Bright  in  the  shadow  of  the  aAvful  Power 
Which  did  as  Nature  give  the  human  breath, 

As  Fate  mature  the  germ  and  nurse  the  flower 
Of  earth  for  heaven, — Toil's  last  and  sweetest  prize, 
The  destined  Soother  lifts  her  fearless  eyes ! 

cxxxv. 

Thro'  all  the  mortal's  frame,  enraptured  thrills 

A  subtler  tide,  a  life  ambrosial, 
Brio'ht  as  the  fabled  element  which  fills 

The  veins  of  Gods  when  in  the  golden  hall 
Flush'd  Hebe  brims  the  urn.     The  transport  broke 
The  charm  that  gave  it — and  the  Dreamer  woke. 

cxxxvr. 

Was  it  in  truth  a  Dream  ?     He  gazed  around. 
And  saw  the  granite  of  sepulchral  walls ; 

Thro'  open  doors,  along  the  desolate  ground. 
O'er  coffin  dust — the  morning  sunbeam  falls ; 

On  mouldering  relics  life  its  splendour  flings. 

The  arms  of  warriors  and  the  bones  of  kinu's. — 


168  KING    ARTHUR. 


CXXXVII. 

He  stood  within  that  Golgotha  of  old, 

Whither  the  Phantom  first  had  led  the  soul. 

It  was  no  dream !  lo,  round  those  locks  of  gold 
Rest  the  young  sunbeams  like  an  auriole; 

Lo,  where  the  day,  night's  mystic  promise  keeps, 

And  in  the  tomb  a  life  of  beauty  sleeps ! 

CXXXVIII. 

Slow  to  his  eyes,  those  lids  reveal  their  own, 
And,  the  lips  smiling  even  in  their  sigh. 

The  Virgin  woke  !  0  never  yet  w^as  known, 
In  bower  or  plaisaunce  under  summer  sky. 

Life  so  enrich'd  with  nature's  happiest  bloom 

As  thine,  thou  young  Aurora  of  the  tomb ! 

cxxxix. 

Words  cannot  paint  thee,  gentlest  Cynosure 
Of  all  things  lovely  in  that  loveliest  form. 

Souls  wear — the  youth  of  woman  !  brows  as  pure 
As  Memphian  skies  that  never  knew  a  storm ; 

Lips  with  such  sweetness  in  their  honied  deeps 

As  fills  the  rose  in  which  a  fairy  sleeps ; 

CXL. 

Eyes  on  whose  tenderest  azure,  aching  hearts 
Might  look  as  to  a  heaven,  and  cease  to  grieve ; 

The  very  blush,  as  day,  when  it  departs, 
Haloes,  in  liushing,  the  mild  cheek  of  eve, 

Takimir  soft  warmth  in  lit>lit  from  earth  afar, 

Heralds  no  thoudit  less  holv  than  a  star. 


BOOK     XI.  169 

CXLI. 

And  Arthur  spoke  !     0  ye,  all  noble  souls, 

Divine  how  knighthood  speaks  to  maiden  fear  ! 

Yet,  is  it  fear  which  that  young  heart  controls 
And  leaves  its  music  voiceless  on  the  ear — 

Ye,  who  have  felt  what  words  can  ne'er  express, 

Say  then,  is  fear  as  still  as  happiness  ? 

CXLII. 

By  the  mute  pathos  of  an  eloquent  sign, 

Her  rosy  finger  on  her  lip,  the  maid 
Seem'd  to  donote  that  on  that  choral  shrine 

Speech  was  to  silence  vow'd.     Then  from  the  shade 
Gliding — she  stood  beneath  the  golden  skies. 
Fair  as  the  dawn  that  brightened  Paradise. 

CXLIII. 

And  Arthur  looked,  and  saw  the  dove  no  more ; 

Yet,  by  some  wild  and  wondrous  giamoury. 
Changed  to  the  shape  the  new  companion  wore. 

His  soul  the  missing  Angel  seemed  to  see ; 
And,  soft  and  silent  as  the  earlier  guide, 
The  soft  eyes  thrill,  the  silent  footsteps  glide. 

CXLTV. 

Thro'  paths  his  yester  steps  had  fail'd  to  find, 
Adown  the  w^oodland  slope  she  leads  the  king, — 

And,  pausing  oft,  she  turns  to  look  behind, 
As  oft  had  turned  the  dove  upon  the  wing ; 

And  oft  he  questioned,  still  to  find  reply 

Mute  on  the  lip,  yet  struggling  to  the  eye. 


170  KING    ARTHUR. 

CXLV. 

Far  briefer  now  the  way,  and  open  more 

To  heaven,  than  those  his  whileome  steps  had  won ; 
And  sudden,  lo !  his  galley's  brazen  prore 

Beams  from  the  greenwood  burnished  in  the  sun ; 
Uj)  from  the  SAvard  his  watchful  cruisers  spring, 
And  loud-lipp'd  welcome  girds  with  joy  the  King. 

CXLVI. 

Now  plies  the  rapid  oar,  now  swells  the  sail ; 

All  day,  and  deep  into  the  heart  of  night, 
Flies  the  glad  bark  before  the  favouring  gale ; 

Now  Sabra's  virgin  waters  dance  in  light 
Under  the  large  full  moon,  on  margents  green. 
Lone  with  charr'd  wrecks  where  Saxon  fires  have  been. 

CXLVII. 

Here  furls  the  sail,  here  rests  awhile  the  oar. 
And  from  the  crews  the  Cymrians  and  the  maid 

Pass  with  mute  breath  upon  the  mournful  shore ; 
For,  where  yon  groves  the  gradual  hillock  shade, 

A  convent  stood  when  Arthur  left  the  land. 

God  grant  the  shrine  hath  'scaped  the  heathen's  hand ! 

CXLVIII. 

Landing,  on  lifeless  hearths,  thro'  roofless  walls 

And  casement  gaps,  the  ghost-like  star-beams  peer ; 

Welcomed  by  night  and  ruin,  hollow  falls 
The  footstep  of  a  King ! — Upon  the  ear 

The  inexpressible  hush  of  murder  lay, — 

Wide  yawn'd  the  doors,  and  not  a  watch  dog's  bay ! 


BOOK    XI.  171 

CXLIX. 

They  pass  the  groveSj  they  gain  the  holt,  and  lo ! 

Rests  of  the  sacred  pile  but  one  gray  tower, 
A  fort  for  luxury  in  the  long-ago 

Of  gentile  gods,  and  Rome's  voluptuous  power. 
But  far  on  walls  yet  spared,  the  moonbeams  fell, — 
Far  on  the  golden  domes  of  Carduel ! 

CL. 

^'^Joy,"  cried  the  King,  "behold,  the  land  lives  still!" 
Then  Gawaine  23ointed,  where,  in  lengthening  line 

The  Saxon  watch-fires  from  the  haunted  hill 
(Shorn  of  its  forest  old,)  their  blood-red  shine 

Fling  over  Isca,  and  with  wrathful  flush 

Gild  the  vast  storm-cloud  of  the  armed  hush. 

CLI. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  King,  "  in  that  lull'd  Massacre 
Doth  no  ghost  whisper  Crida — '  Sleep  no  more  !' 

"  Hark,  where  I  stand,  dark  murder-chief,  on  thee 
I  launch  the  doom !  ye  airs,  that  wander  o'er 

Ruins  and  graveless  bones,  to  Crida' s  sleep 

Bear  Cymri's  promise,  which  her  king  shall  keep !" 

CLII. 

As  thus  he  spoke,  upon  his  outstretch'd  arm 
A  light  touch  trembled, — turning  he  beheld 

The  maiden  of  the  tomb ;  a  wild  alarm 

Shone  from  her  ej^es;  his  own  their  terror  spell'd. 

Struggling  for  speech,  the  pale  lips  Avrithed  apart, 

And,  as  she  clung,  he  heard  her  beating  heart ; 


172  KING     ARTHUR. 

CLIII. 

While  Artliur  marvelling  sootli'd  the  agonj 

Which.,  comprehending  not^  he  still  could  share, 

Sudden  sprang  Gawaine — hark  !  a  timorous  cry 

Pierced  yon  dim  shadows !  Arthur  look'd,  and  where 

On' artful  valves  revolved  the  stoney  door, 

A  kneeling  nun  his  knight  is  bending  o'er. 

CLIV. 

Ere  the  nun's  fears  the  knightly  words  dispell, 
As  towards  the  spot  the  maid  and  monarch  came, 

On  Arthur's  brows  the  slanted  moonbeams  fell. 
And  the  nun  knew  the  King,  and  call'd  his  name 

And  clasp'd  his  knees,  and  sobb'd  thro'  joyous  tears, 

*'  Once  more  !  once  more  !  our  God  his  people  hears !" 

CLV. 

Kin  to  his  blood — the  welcome  face  of  one 

Known  as  a  saint  throughout  the  Christian  land, 

Arthur  recall'd,  and  as  a  pious  son 

Honouring  a  mother — on  that  sacred  hand 

In  homage  bow'd  the  King,  "  What  mercy  saves 

Thee,  blest  survivor  in  this  shrine  of  graves  ?" 

CLVI. 

Then  the  nun  led  them,  thro'  the  artful  door 

Mask'd  in  the  masonry,  adown  a  stair 
That  coil'd  its  windings  to  the  grottoed  floor 

Of  vaulted  chambers  desolately  fair ; 
Wrought  in  the  green  hill  like  on  Oread's  home, 
For  summer  heats  by  some  soft  lord  of  Rome, 


BOOK    XI.  173 

CLVII. 

On  shells,  which  nymphs  from  silver  sands  might  cuU,^ 
On  paved  mosaics  and  long-silenced  fount, 

On  marble  waifs  of  the  far  Beautiful 

By  graceful  spoiler  garner'd  from  the  mount 

Of  vocal  Delphi,  or  the  Elean  town, 

Or  Sparta's  rival  of  the  violet-crown — 

CLVIIT. 

Shone  the  rude  cresset  from  the  homely  shrine 
Of  that  new  Power,  upon  whose  Syrian  Cross 

Perished  the  antique  Jove !  And  the  grave  sign 
Of  the  glad  faith  (which,  for  the  lovely  loss 

Of  poet-gods,  their  own  Olympus  frees  \ 

To  men  ! — our  souls  the  new  Uranides,) 

CLIX. 

High  from  the  base,  on  which,  of  old,  reposed 
Grape-crown'd  lacchus — spoke  the  Saving  Woe ! 

The  place  itself  the  sister  s  tale  disclosed. 

Here,  while,  amidst  the  hamlet  doomed  below, 

Raged  the  fierce  Saxon — was  retreat  secured ; 

Nor  gnawed  the  iiame  where  those  deep  vaults  immured. 

CLX. 

To  peasants  scattered  thro'  the  neighbouring  plains, 
The  secret  known ; — kind  hands  with  pious  care 

Supply  such  humble  nurture  as  sustains 

Lives  must  with  fiist  familiar ;  thus  and  there 

The  patient  sisters  in  their  faith  sublime. 

Felt  God  was  good,  and  waited  for  His  time. 

VOL.  II.  12 


174  KING    ARTHUR. 


CLXI. 


Yet  ever  when  the  crimes  of  earth  and  day 
Slept  in  the  starry  peace,  to  the  lone  tower 

The  sainted  abbess  won  her  nightly  way, 

And  gazed  on  Carduel ! — 'T  was  the  wonted  hour 

When  from  the  opening  door  the  Cymrian  knight 

Saw  the  pale  shadow  steal  along  the  light. 

CLXIT.  J 

Musing,  the  King  the  safe  retreat  surveyed,         [care ; 

And  smoothed  his  brow  from  time's  most  anxious 
Here — from  the  strife  secure,  might  rest  the  maid 

Not  meet  the  tasks  that  morn  must  bring  to  share ; 
And  pleased  the  sister's  pitying  looks  he  eyed 
Bent  on  the  young  form  creeping  to  her  side. 

CLXIII. 

"  King,"  said  the  sainted  nun,  "  from  some  far  clime 
Comes  this  fair  stranger,  that  her  eyes  alone 

Answer  our  mountain  tongue  ?" — "  May  happier  time," 
Replied  the  King,  "  her  tale,  her  land,  make  known. 

Meanwhile,  0  kind  recluse,  receive  the  guest 

To  whom  these  altars  seem  the  native  rest." 

CLXIV. 

The  sister  smiled,  "  In  sooth  those  looks,"  she  said, 
"  Do  speak  a  soul  pure  with  celestial  air ; 

And  in  the  morrow's  awful  hour  of  dread, 
Her  heart  methinks  will  echo  to  our  prayer, 

And  breathe  responsive  to  the  hymns  that  swell 

The  Christian's  curse  upon  the  infidel. 


BOOK    XI.  175 

CLXV. 

"  But  say,  if  truth  from  rumor  vague  and  wild 
To  this  still  world  the  friendly  peasants  bring, 

'  That  grief  and  wrath  for  some  lost  heathen  child, 
Urge  to  yon  walls  the  Mercian's  direful  king  ?'  " — 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Cymrian,  "  doth  ambition  fail 

When  force  needs  falsehood,  of  the  glozing  tale  ? 

CLXVI. 

"  And — but  behold  she  droops,  she  faints,  outworn 
By  the  long  wandering  and  the  scorch  of  day !" 

Pale  as  a  lily  when  the  dewless  morn, 
Parch'd  in  the  fiery  dog-star,  wanes  away 

Into  the  glare  of  noon  without  a  cloud, 

O'er  the  nun's  breast  that  flower  of  beauty  bow'd. 

CLXVII. 

Yet  still  the  clasp  retained  the  hand  that  prest. 

And  breath  came  still,  tho'  heaved  in  sobbing  sighs. 

"  Leave  her,"  the  sister  said,  "  to  needful  rest. 
And  to  such  care  as  woman  best  supplies ; 

And  may  this  charge  a  conqueror  soon  recall. 

And  change  the  refuge  to  a  monarch's  hall !" 

CLXVIII. 

Tho'  found  the  asylum  sought,  with  boding  mind 
The  crowning  guerdon  of  his  mystic  toil 

To  the  kind  nun  the  unwilling  King  resigned ; 
Nor  till  his  step  was  on  his  mountain  soil 

Did  his  large  heart  its  lion  calm  regain, 

And  o'er  his  soul  no  thought  but  Cymri  reign. 


176  KING     ARTHUR. 

CLXIX. 

As  towards  the  bark  the  friends  resume  their  way, 
Quick  they  resolve  the  conflict's  hardy  scheme ; 

With  half  the  Northmen,  at  the  break  of  day 

Shall  Gawaine  sail  where  Sabra's  broadening  stream 

Admits  a  reeded  creek,  and,  landing  there, 

Elude  the  fleet  the  neighbouring  waters  bear; 

CLXX. 

Thro'  secret  paths  with  bush  and  bosk  o'ergrown, 
Wind  round  the  tented  hill,  and  win  the  wall ; 

With  Arthur's  name  arouse  the  leaguered  town, 
Give  the  pent  stream  the  cataract's  rushing  fall, 

Sweep  to  the  camp,  and  on  the  Pagan  horde 

Urge  all  of  man  that  yet  survives  the  sword. 

CLXXI. 

Meanwhile  on  foot  the  king  shall  guide  his  band 
Round  to  the  rearward  of  the  vast  array. 

Where  yet  large  fragments  of  the  forest  stand 
To  shroud  with  darkness  the  avenger's  way ; 

Thence  when  least  look'd  for,  burst  upon  the  foe, 

On  war's  own  heart  direct  the  sudden  blow ; 

CLXXII. 

Thus  front  and  rear  assailed,  their  numbers,  less 
(Perplex'd,  distraught,)  avail  the  heathen's  power. 

Dire  was  the  peril,  and  the  sole  success 
In  the  nice  seizure  of  the  season'd  hour ; 

The  high-soul'd  rashness  of  the  bold  emprize ; 

The  fear  that  smites  the  fiercest  in  surprise ; 


BOOK    XI.  177 

CLXXIII. 

Whatever  worth  the  enchanted  boons  may  bear, 
The  hero  heart  by  which  those  boons  were  won ; 

The  stubborn  strength  of  that  supreme  despair, 
When  victory  lost  is  all  a  land  undone ; 

In  the  man's  cause  and  in  the  Christian's  zeal, 

And  the  just  God  that  sanctions  Freedom's  steel. 

CLXXIV. 

Meanwhile,  along  a  cave-like  corridor 
The  stranger  guest  the  gentle  abbess  led; 

Where  the  voluptuous  hypocaust  of  yore 
Left  cells  for  vestal  dreams  saint-hallowed. 

Her  own,  austerely  rude,  affords  the  rest 

To  which  her  parting  kiss  consigns  the  guest. 

CLXXV. 

But  Avelcome  not  for  rest  that  loneliness ! 

The  iron  lamp  the  imaged  cross  displays, 
And  to  that  guide  for  souls,  what  mute  distress 

Lifts  the  imploring  passion  of  its  gaze  ? 
Fear  like  remorse — and  sorrow  dark  as  sin  ? 
Enter  that  mystic  heart  and  look  within ! 

CLXXVI. 

What  broken  gleams  of  memorj^  come  and  go 

Along  the  dark ! — a  silent  starry  love 
Lighting  young  Fancy's  virgin  waves  below. 

But  shed  from  thoughts  that  rest  ensphered  above ! 
Oh,  flowers  whose  bloom  had  perfumed  Carmel,  weave 
Wreaths  for  such  love  as  lived  in  Genevieve  ! 


178  KING    ARTHUR. 

CLXXVII. 

A  May  noon  resteth  on  the  forest  hill ; 

A  May  noon  resteth  over  ruins  hoar ; 
A  maiden  muses  on  the  forest  hill, 

A  tomb's  vast  pile  o'ershades  the  ruins  hoar, 
With  doors  now  open  to  each  prying  blast, 
Where  once  to  rot  imperial  dust  had  past ; 

CLXXVIII. 

Glides  thro'  that  tomb  of  Eld  the  musing  maid, 
And  slumber  drags  her  down  its  airy  deep. 

0  wondrous  trance  !  in  druid  robes  array'd, 

What  form  benignant  charms  the  life-like  sleep  ? 

What  spells  low-chaunted,  holy-sweet,  like  prayer, 

Plume  the  light  soul,  and  waft  it  through  the  air  ? 

CLXXTX. 

Comes  a  dim  sense  as  of  an  angel's  being, 
Bathed  in  ambrosial  dews  and  liquid  day; 

Of  floating  wings,  like  heavenward  instincts,  freeing 
Thro'  azure  solitudes  a  spirit's  way, — 

An  absence  of  all  earthly  thought,  desire. 

Aim — ^liope, — save  those  which  love  and  which  asjiire : 

CLXXX. 

Each  harder  sense  of  the  mere  human  mind 
Merged  into  some  protective  prescience ; 

Calm  gladness,  conscious  of  a  charge  consign'd 
To  the  pure  ward  of  guardian  innocence ; 

And  the  felt  presence,  in  that  charge,  of  one 

Whose  smile  to  life  is  as  to  flowers  the  sun, 


BOOK    XI.  179 

CLXXXI. 

Go  on  J  tliou  troubled  Memory,  wander  on ! 

Dull,  o'er  the  bounds  of  the  departing  trance. 
Droops  the  lithe  wing  the  airier  life  hath  known ; 

Yet  on  the  confines  of  the  dream,  the  glance 
Sees— where  before  he  stood,  the  Enchanter  stand, — 
Bend  the  vast  brow,  and  stretch  the  shadowy  hand. 

CLXXXII. 

And,  human  sense  reviving,  on  the  ear 

Fall  words  ambiguous,  now  with  happy  hours 

And  plighted  love, — and  now  with  threats  austere 
Of  demon  dangers — of  malignant  Powers 

Whose  force  might  3^et  the  counter  charm  unbind, 

If  loosed  the  silence  to  her  lips  enjoin'd. — 

CLXXXIII, 

Then  as  that  Image  faded  from  the  verge 
Of  life's  renewed  horizon — came  the  day ; 

Yet,  ere  the  vision's  last  faint  gleams  submerge 
Into  earth's  common  light,  their  parting  ray 

On  Arthur's  brow  the  faithful  memories  leave. 

And  the  Dove's  heart  still  beats  in  Genevieve ! 

CLXXXTV, 

Still  she  the  presence  feels, — resumes  the  guide. 
Till  slowly,  slowly  waned  the  prescient  power 

That  gave  the  guardian  to  the  pilgrim's  side ; — 
And  only  rested,  with  her  human  dower 

Of  gifts  sublime  to  soothe,  but  weak  to  save, 

And  blind  to  warn^ — the  Daughter  of  the  Grave, 


180  KING    ARTHUR. 


CLXXXV. 

Yet  the  last  dream  bequeathed  for  ever  more 
Thoughts  that  did,  like  a  second  nature,  make 

Life  to  that  life  the  Dove  had  hover'd  o'er 
Cling  as  an  instinct, — and  for  that  dear  sake 

Danger  and  Death  had  found  the  woman's  love 

In  realms  as  near  the  Angel  as  the  Dove. 

CLXXXIV. 

And  now  and  now  is  she  herself  the  one 
To  launch  the  bolt  on  that  beloved  life  ? 

Shuddering  she  starts,  again  she  hears  the  nun 
Denounce  the  curse  that  arms  the  awful  strife ; 

Again  her  lips  the  wild  cry  stilie,^ — "  See 

Crida's  lost  child,  thy  country's  curse,  in  me !" 

CLXXXVII. 

Or — if  along  the  world  of  that  despair 

Fleet  other  spectres, — from  the  ruined  steep 

Points  the  dread  arm  and  hisses  thro'  the  air 
The  avenger's  sentence  on  the  father's  sleep ! 

The  dead  seem  rising  from  the  yawning  floor, 

And  the  shrine  steams  as  with  a  shamble's  gore. 

CLXXXVIII. 

Sudden  she  springs,  and,  from  her  veiling  hands, 
Lifts  the  pale  courage  of  her  calmed  brow; 

With  upward  eyes,  and  murmuring  lips,  she  stands, 
Raising  to  heaven  the  new-born  hope : — and  now 

Glides  from  the  cell  along  the  galleried  caves, 

Mute  as  a  moonbeam  tiitting  over  waves. 


BOOK    XI.  181 

CLXXXIX. 

Now  gained  the  central  grot ;  now  won  the  stair ; 

The  lamp  she  bore  gleamed  on  the  door  of  stone ; 
Why  halt  ?  what  hand  detains  ? — she  tiirn'd,  and  there, 

On  the  nun's  serge  and  brow  rebuking,  shone 
The  tremulous  light ;  then  fear  her  lips  unchain'd 
From  that  stern  silence  by  the  Dream  ordain'd, 

cxc. 

And  at  those  holy  feet  the  Saxon  fell 
Sobbing,  "  0  stay  me  not !  0  rather  free 

These  steps  that  fly  to  save  Ids  Carduel ! 
Throne,  altars,  life — his  life !  In  me,  in  me, 

To  these  strange  shrines,  thy  saints  in  mercy  bring 

Crida's  lost  Child  ! — Way,  way  to  save  thy  king !" 

cxci. 
Listened  the  nun;  doubt,  joy,  and  awed  amaze 

Fused  in  that  lambent  atmosphere  of  soul. 
Faith  in  the  wise  All  Good ! — so  melt  the  rays 

Of  varying  Iris  in  the  lucid  whole 
Of  light ; — "  Thy  people  still  to  Thee  are  dear, 
0  Lord,"  she  murmured,  "  and  Thy  hand  is  here !" 

cxcir. 
"  Yes,"  cried  the  suppliant,  "  if  my  loss  deplored, 

My  fate  unguest — misled  and  arm'd  my  sire ; 
When  to  his  heart  his  child  shall  be  restored, 

Sure,  war  itself  will  in  the  cause  expire ; 
Ruth  come  with  joy, — and  in  that  happy  hour 
Hate  drop  the  steel,  and  Love  alone  have  power  ?" 


182  KING    ARTHUR. 

CXCIII. 

Then  the  nun  took  the  Saxon  to  her  breast, 

Round  the  bow'd  neck  she  hung  her  sainted  cross, 

And  said,  "  Go  forth — 0  beautiful  and  blest ! 
And  if  my  king  rebuke  me  for  thy  loss, 

Be  my  reply  the  gain  that  loss  bestow'd, — 

Hearths  for  his  peoj)le,  altars  for  his  God !" 

CXCIV. 

She  ceased ; — on  secret  valves  revolved  the  door. 
Breathed  on  the  silent  hill  the  dawning  air ; 

One  moment  paused  the  steps  of  Hope,  and  o'er 
The  war's  vast  slumber  look'd  the  Soul  of  Prayer. 

So  halts  the  bird  that  from  the  cage  hath  flown  ; — 

A  light  bough  rustled,  and  the  Dove  was  gone. 


KING   ilRTHUR. 


BOOK  XII. 


ARGUMENT. 

Preliminary  Stanzas  ;  Scene  returns  to  Carduel ;  a  day  has  passed  since 
the  retreat  of  the  Saxons  into  their  encampment ;  The  Cymrians  take 
advantage  of  the  enemy's  inactivity,  to  introduce  supplies  into  the  fa- 
mished city ;  Watch  all  that  day,  and  far  into  the  following  night,  is 
kept  round  the  corpse  of  Caradoc;  Before  dawn,  the  burial  takes  place; 
The  Prophet  by  the  grave  of  the  Bard ;  Merlin's  address  to  the  Cym- 
rians, whom  he  dismisses  to  the  walls,  in  announcing  the  renewed  as- 
sault of  the  Saxons ;  Merlin  then  demands  a  sacrifice  from  Lancelot ; 
gives  commissions  to  the  two  sons  of  Faul  the  Aleman,  and  takes  Paul 
himself  (to  whom  an  especial  charge  is  destined)  to  the  city;  The  scene 
changes  to  the  Temple  Fortress  of  the  Saxons ;  The  superstitious  panic 
of  the  heathen  hosts  at  their  late  defeat ;  The  magic  divination  of  the 
Runic  priests ;  The  magnetic  trance  of  the  chosen  Soothsayer ;  The 
Oracle  he  utters ;  He  demands  the  blood  of  a  Christian  maid ;  The 
pause  of  the  priests  and  the  pagan  king ;  The  abrupt  entrance  of  Ge- 
nevieve ;  Crida's  joy ;  The  priests  demand  the  Victim ;  Genevieve's 
Christian  faith  is  evinced  by  the  Cross  which  the  Nun  had  hung  round 
her  neck ;  Crida's  reply  to  the  priests ;  They  dismiss  one  of  their 
number  to  inflame  the  army,  and  so  insure  the  sacrifice ;  The  priests 
lead  the  Victim  to  the  Altar,  and  begin  their  hymn,  as  the  Soothsayer 
wakes  from  his  trance ;  The  interruption  and  the  compact ;  Crida  goes 
from  the  Temple  to  the  summit  of  the  tower  without ;  The  invading 
march  of  the  Saxon  troops  under  Harold  described  ;  The  light  from  the 
Dragon  Keep ;  The  Saxons  scale  the  walls,  and  disappear  within  the 
town ;  The  irruption  of  flames  from  the  fleet ;  The  dismay  of  that  part 
of  the  army  that  had  remained  in  the  camp ;  The  flames  are  seen  by 
the  rest  of  the  heathen  army  in  the  streets  of  Carduel ;  The  approach 
of  the  Northmen  under  Gawaine ;  The  light  on  the  Dragon  Keep  changes 
its  hue  into  blood-red,  and  the  Prophet  appears  on  the  height  of  the 
tower;  The  retreat  of  the  Saxons  from  the  city  ;  The  joy  of  the  Chief 
Priest ;  The  time  demanded  by  the  compact  has  exj)ired ;  He  summons 
Crida  to  complete  the  sacrifice ;  Crida's  answer ;  The  Priest  rushes 
back  into  the  Temple  ;  The  ofi'ering  is  bound  to  the  Altar ;  Faul !  the 
gleam  of  the  enchanted  glaive ;  The  appearance  of  Arthur ;  The  War 
takes  its  last  stand  within  the  heathen  temple ;  Crida  and  the  Teuton 
kings ;  Arthur  meets  Crida  hand  to  hand ;  Meanwhile  Harold  saves 
the  Gonfanon,  and  follows  the  bands  under  his  lead  to  the  river  side; 
He  addresses  them,  re-forms  their  ranks,  and  leads  them  to  the  brow  of 
the  hill ;  His  embassy  to  Arthur ;  The  various  groups  in  the  heathen 
temple  described;  Harold's  speech;  Arthur's  reply ;  Merlin's  prophetic 
address  to  the  chiefs  of  the  two  races ;  The  End. 


BOOK     XII. 


I. 

Flow  on,  flow  on,  fair  Fable's  happy  stream, 
Vocal  for  aye  with  Eld's  first  music-chaunt, 

Where  mirror'd  far  adown  the  crystal,  gleam 
The  golden  domes  of  Carduel  and  Komaunt ; 

Still  one  last  look  on  knighthood's  peerless  ring, 

Of  mooned  dream-land  and  the  Dragon  King ! — 

11. 

Detain  me  yet  amid  the  lovely  throng, 

Hold  yet  thy  Sabbat,  thou  melodious  spell ! 

Still  to  the  circle  of  enchanted  song 

Charm  the  high  Mage  of  Druid  parable. 

The  Fairy,  barb-led  from  her  Caspian  Sea, 

And  Genius,*  lured  from  caves  in  Araby ! 

III. 

Tho'  me,  less  fair  if  less  familiar  ways. 

Sought  in  the  paths  by  earlier  steps  untrod, 

Allure — yet  ever,  in  the  marvel-maze. 
The  flowers  afar  perfume  the  virgin  sod ; 

The  simplest  leaf  in  fairy  gardens  cull. 

And  round  thee  opens  all  the  Beautiful ! 

*  whether  or  not  the  fairy  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  be  of  Celtic  or  Piclish 
origin,  in  the  rude  shape  it  assumes  in  the  simplest  legends; — as  soon  as  it  appears 
in  the  romance  of  that  later  period  in  which  Arthur  was  the  popular  hero,  it  be- 
trays unequivocal  evidence  of  its  identity  with  the  Persian  Peri.  The  Genius  is 
still  more  obviously  the  creation  of  the  Kast. 


186  KING    ARTHUR. 

IV. 

Alas  !  the  sunset  of  our  Northern  main 

Soon  lose  the  tints  Hesperian  Fancy  weaves ; 

Soon  the  sweet  river  feels  the  icy  chain, 

And  haunted  forests  shed  their  murmurous  leaves ; 

The  bough  must  wither,  and  the  bird  depart, 

And  winter  clasp  the  world — as  life  the  heart ! 

V. 

A  day  had  pass'd  since  first  the  Saxons  fled 
Before  the  Christian,  and  their  war  lay  still ; 

From  mom  to  eve  the  Cymrian  rider  spread 
Where  flocks  yet  graze  on  some  remoter  hill, 

Pale,  on  the  walls,  fast-sinking  Famine  waits. 

When  hark,  the  droves  come  lowing  thro'  the  gates ! 

VI. 

Yet  still,  the  corpse  of  Caradoc  around. 
All  day,  and  far  into  the  watch  of  night, 

The  grateful  victors  guard  the  sacred  ground ; 
But  in  that  hour  when  all  his  race  of  light 

Leave  Eos  lone  in  heaven, — earth's  hollow  breast 

Oped  to  the  dawn-star  and  the  singer's  rest 

VII. 

Now,  ere  they  lowered  the  corpse,  with  noiseless  tread 

Still  as  a  sudden  shadow.  Merlin  came 
Thro'  the  arm'd  crowd ;  and  paused  before  the  dead, 

And,  looking  on  the  face,  thrice  call'd  the  name, 
Then,  hush'd,  thro'  all  an  awed  compassion  ran, 
And  all  gave  way  to  the  old  quiet  man. 


BOOK    XI.  187 

VIII. 

For  Cymri  knew  that  of  her  children  none 
Had,  like  the  singer,  loved  the  lonely  sage ; 

All  felt,  that  there  a  father  call'd  a  son 

Out  from  that  dreariest  void, — bereaved  age ; 

Forgot  the  dread  renown,  the  mystic  art, 

And  saw  but  sacred  there — the  human  heart ! 

IX. 

And  thrice  the  old  man  kiss'd  the  lips  that  smiled. 
And  thrice  he  call'd  the  name, — then  to  the  grave, 

Hush'd  as  the  nurse  that  bears  a  sleeping  child 
To  its  still  mother's  breast, — the  form  he  gave  : 

With  tender  hand  composed  the  solemn  rest, 

And  laid  the  harp  upon  the  silent  breast. 

X. 

And  then  he  sate  him  down,  a  little  space 

From  the  dark  couch,  and  so,  of  none  took  heed ; 

But  lifting  to  the  twilight  skies  his  flxce, 

That  secret  soul  which  never  man  could  read. 

Far  as  the  soul  it  miss'd,  from  human  breath. 

Rose — where  Thought  rises  when  it  follows  Death  ! 

XI. 

And  swells  and  falls  in  gusts  the  funeral  dirge 
As  hollow  falls  the  mould,  or  swells  the  mound : 

And  (Cymri's  warlike  wont)  upon  the  verge. 
The  orbed  shields  are  placed  in  rows  around ; 

Now  o'er  the  dead,  grass  waves ; — the  rite  is  done  : 

And  a  new  grave  shall  greet  a  rising  sun. 


188  '  KING     ARTHUR. 

XII. 

Then  slowly  turned,  and  calmly  moved  the  sage, 
On  the  Bard's  grave  his  stand  the  Prophet  took. 

High  o'er  the  crowd  in  all  his  pomp  of  age 
August,  a  glory  brightened  from  his  look ; 

Hope  flashed  in  eyes  illumined  from  his  own, 

Bright^  as  if  there  some  sure  redemption  shone. 

XIII. 

Thus  spoke  the  Seer  :  '^  Hosannah  to  the  brave ; 

Lo,  the  eternal  heir-looms  of  your  land ! 
A  realm's  great  treasure  house  !    The  freeman's  grave  ; 

The  hero  creed  that  to  the  swordless  hand 
Thought,  when  heroic,  gives  an  army's  might ; — 
And  song  to  nations  as  to  plants  the  light ! 

XIV. 

"  Cymrians,  the  sun  yon  towers  will  scarcely  gild. 
Ere  war  will  scale  them !     Here,  your  task  is  o'er. 

Your  walls  your  camp,  your  streets  your  battle-field ; 
Each  house  a  fortress ! — One  strong  effort  more 

For  God,  for  Freedom — for  your  shrines  and  homes ! 

After  the  Martyr  the  Deliverer  comes !" 

XV. 

He  ceased ;  and  such  the  reverence  of  the  crowd, 
No  lip  presumed  to  question.     Wonder  hushed 

Its  curious  guess,  and  only  Hope  aloud 

Spoke  in  the  dauntless  shout :  each  cheek  was  flushed ; 

Each  eye  was  bright  ;■ — each  heart  beat  high ;  and  all 

Ranged  in  due  ranks,  resought  the  shatter'd  wall : 


BOOK    XII.  -  189 

XVI. 

Save  only  four,  wliom  to  that  holy  spot 

The  Prophet's  whisper  stay'd : — of  these,  the  one 

Of  knightly  port  and  arms,  was  Lancelot ; 
But  in  the  ruder  three,  with  garments  won 

From  the  wild  beast, — long  hair'd,  large  limb'd,  agen 

See  Rhine's  strong  sons,  the  convert  Alemen ! 

XVIT. 

When  these  alone  remained  beside  the  mound, 

The  Prophet  drew  apart  the  Paladin, 
And  said,  "  what  time,  feud,  worse  than  famine,  found 

The  Cymrian  race,  like  some  lost  child  of  sin 
That  courts,  yet  cowers  from  death ; — serene  thro'  all 
The  jarring  factions  of  the  maddening  hall. 

XVIII. 

"  Thou  didst  in  vain  breathe  high  rebuke  to  pride, 
With  words  sublimely  proud.     '  No  post  the  man 

Ennobles ; — man  the  post !  did  He  who  died 
To  crown  in  death  the  end  His  birth  began. 

Assume  the  sceptre  when  the  cross  He  braved  ? 

Did  He  wear  purple  in  the  world  He  saved  ? 

XIX. 

"  '  Ye  clamour  which  is  worthiest  of  command,— 
Place  me,  whose  fathers  led  the  hosts  of  Gaul, 

Amongst  the  meanest  children  of  your  land ; 
Let  me  owe  nothing  to  my  fathers, — all 

To  such  high  deeds  as  raised,  ere  kings  were  known, 

The  boldest  savage  to  the  earliest  throne  !' 

VOL.  II.  13 


190  KING    ARTHUE. 

XX. 

''  But  none  did  heed  tliee,  and  in  scornful  grief 
Went  thy  still  footsteps  from  the  raging  hall, 

Where  by  the  altars  of  the  bright  Belief 

That  spans  this  cloud-world  when  its  sun-showers  fall, 

She,  thine  in  heaven  at  least  assured  to  be, 

Pray'd  not  for  safety  but  for  death  with  thee. 

xxr. 

"  There,  by  the  altar,  did  ye  join  your  hands. 
And  in  your  vow,  scorning  malignant  Time, 

Ye  plighted  two  immortals  !  in  those  bands        [clime  ; 
Hope  -still  wove  flowers, — but  earth  was  not  their 

Then  to  the  breach  alone,  resigned,  consoled. 

Went  Gaul's  young  hero. — Art  thou  now  less  bold  ? 

XXII. 

"  Thy  smile  replies !    Know,  while  we  speak,  the  King 
Is  on  the  march ;  each  moment  that  delays 

The  foeman,  speeds  the  conqueror  on  its  wing ; 
If,  till  the  hour  is  ripe,  the  Saxon  stays 

His  rush,  then  idly  wastes  it  on  our  wall, 

Not  ours  the  homes  that  burn,  the  shrines  that  fall ! 

XXIII. 

"  But  that  delay  vouchsafed  not — -comes  in  vain 
The  bright  achiever  of  enchanted  powers ; 

He  comes  a  king, — no  people  but  the  slain, 

And  round  his  throne  will  crash  his  blazing  towers, 

This  is  not  all ;  for  him  the  morn  is  rife 

With  one  dire  curse  that  threatens  more  than  life ; — 


BOOK    XII.  191 

XXIV. 

"  A  curse  which,  launched,  will  wither  every  leaf 
In  victory's  crown,  chill  youth  itself  to  age  ! 

Here  magic  fails — for  over  love  and  grief 
There  is  no  glamour  in  the  brazen  page. 

Born  of  the  mind,  o'er  mind  extends  mine  art : — 

Beyond  its  circle  beats  the  human  heart ! — 

XXV. 

"  Delay  the  hour — save  Carduel  for  thy  king ; 

Avert  the  curse  ;  from  misery  save  thy  brother  !" 
"  Thrice  welcome  Death,"  cried  Lancelot,  "could  it  bring 

The  bliss  to  bless  mine  Arthur !  As  the  mother 
Lives  in  her  child,  the  planet  in  the  sky, 
Thought  in  the  soul,  in  Arthur  so  live  I." 

XXVI. 

"  Prepare,"  the  Seer  replied,  "  be  firm  ! — and  yield 
The  maid  thou  lovest  to  her  Saxon  sire." 

Like  a  man  lightning-stricken,  Lancelot  reel'd, 
As  if  blinded  by  the  intolerant  fire. 

Covered  his  face  with  his  convulsive  hand. 

And  groaned  aloud,  "  What  woe  dost  thou  demand  ? 

XXVII. 

"  Yield  her !  and  wherefore  ?  Cruel  as  thou  art ! 

Can  Cymri's  king  or  Carduel's  destiny 
Need  the  lone  ofiering  of  a  loving  heart, 

Nothing  to  kings  and  states,  but  all  to  me  ?" 
"  Son,"  said  the  prophet,  "  can  the  human  eye 
Trace  by  what  wave  light  quivers  from  the  sky ; 


192  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXVIII. 

"  Explore  some  thought  whose  utterance  shakes  the  earth 

Along  the  airy  galleries  of  the  brain ; 
Or  can  the  human  judgment  gauge  the  worth 

Of  the  least  link  in  Fate's  harmonious  chain  ? 
All  doubt  is  cowardice — all  trust  is  brave — 
Doubt^  and  desert  thy  king ; — believe  and  save." 

XXIX. 

Then  Lancelot  fix'd  his  keen  eyes  on  the  sage, 
And  said,  "  Am  I  the  sacrifice,  or  she  ? 

Risks  she  no  danger  from  the  heathen's  rage, 

She  the  new  Christian  ?" — "  Danger  more  with  thee  ! 

Will  blazing  roofs  and  trampled  altars  yield 

A  shelter  surer  than  her  father's  shield  ? 

XXX. 

"  If  mortal  schemes  may  foil  the  threatening  hour, 
Thy  heart's  reward  shall  crown  thine  honour's  test ; 

And  the  same  fates  that  crush  the  heathen  power 
Restore  the  Christian  to  the  conqueror's  breast ; 

Yea,  the  same  lights  that  gild  the  nuptial  shrine 

Of  Arthur,  shed  a  beam  as  blest  on  thine !" 

XXXI. 

"I  trust  and  I  submit,"  said  Lancelot, 

With  pale  firm  lip.     "Go  thou — I  dare  not — I! 

Say,  if  I  yield,  that  I  abandon  not ! 

Her  form  may  leave  a  desert  to  my  eye. 

But  here — but  hereT — No  more  his  lips  could  say, 

He  smote  his  bleeding  heart,  and  went  his  way ! 


BOOK    XII.  193 

XXXII. 

The  Enchanter,  thoughtful,  turned,  and  on  the  grave 
His  look  relaxing  fell. — "  Ah,  child,  lost  child  ! 

To  thy  young  life  no  youth  harmonious  gave 
Music ; — no  love  thine  exquisite  griefs  beguil'd ; 

Thy  soul's  deep  ocean  hid  its  priceless  pearl ; — 

And  he  is  loved,  and  yet  repines !     0  churl !" 

XXXIII. 

And  murmuring  thus,  he  saw  below  the  mound 

The  stoic  brows  of  the  stern  Alemen, 
Their  gaunt  limbs  strewn  supine  along  the  ground, 

Still  as  gorged  lions  couch' d  before  the  den 
After  the  feast ;  their  life  no  medium  knows. 
Here,  headlong  conflict,  there,  inert  repose ! 

XXXIV. 

"  Which  of  these  feet  could  overtake  the  roe  ? 

Which  of  these  arms  could  grap23le  with  the  bear?" 
"  My  first-born,"  answered  Faul,  "  outstrips  the  roe ; 

My  youngest  crushes  in  his  grasp  the  bear." 
"  Thou,  then,  the  swift  one,  gird  thy  loins,  and  rise ; 
See  o'er  the  lowland  where  the  vapour  lies, 

XXXV. 

"  Far  to  the  right,  a  mist  from  Sabra's  wave ; 

Amidst  that  haze  explore  a  creek  rush-grown, 
Screen'd  from  the  w^aters  less  remote,  which  lave 

The  Saxon's  anchor'd  barks,  and  near  a  lone 
Gray  crag  where  bitterns  boom ;  within  that  creek 
Gleams  thro'  green  boughs  a  galley's  brazen  peak  j 


194  KING    ARTHUR. 

XXXVI. 

"  This  gain'd,  demand  the  chief,  a  Christian  knight, 
The  bear's  rough  mantle  o'er  his  rusted  mail ; 

Tell  him  from  me,  to  tarry  till  a  light 

Burst  from  the  Dragon  keep; — then  crowd  his  sail, 

Fire  his  own  ship — and,  blazing  to  the  bay. 

Cleave  thro'  yon  fleet  his  red  destroying  way; 

XXXVII. 

^^  No  arduous  feat ;  the  gallies  are  unman n'd, 
Moor'd  each  to  each ;  let  fire  consume  them  all ! 

Then,  the  shore  won,  lead  hitherwards  the  band 
Between  the  Saxon  camp  and  Cymrian  wall. 

What  next  behooves,  the  time  itself  will  show, 

Here  counsel  ceases ; — there,  ye  find  the  foe  !" 

XXXVIII. 

Heard  the  wild  youth,  and  no  reply  made  he. 

But  braced  his  belt  and  grip'd  his  spear,  and  straight 

As  the  bird  flies,  he  flew.     "  My  son,  to  thee," 
Next  said  the  Prophet,  "  a  more  urgent  fate 

And  a  more  perilous  duty  are  consign'd ; 

Mark,  the  strong  arm  requires  the  watchful  mind. 

XXXIX. 

''  Thou  hast  to  pass  the  Saxon  sentinels ; 

Thou  hast  to  thread  the  Saxon  hosts  alone ; 
Many  are  there  whom  thy  far  Rhine  expels 

His  swarming  war-hive, — and  their  tongue  thine  own ; 
Take  from  yon  Teuton  dead  the  mail'd  disguise. 
Thy  speech  their  ears,  thy  garb  shall  dupe  their  eyes ; 


BOOK    XII.  195 

XL. 

"  The  watcli-pass  '  Yingolf '"■"  wins  thee  thro'  the  van, 
The  rest  shall  danger  to  thy  sense  inspire, 

And  that  quick  light  in  the  hard  sloth  of  man 
Coil'd  till  sharp  need  strikes  forth  the  sudden  fire. 

The  encampment  traversed,  where  the  woods  behind 

Slope  their  green  gloom,  thj  stealthy  pathway  wind ; 

XLI. 

''  Keep  to  one  leftward  track,  amidst  the  chase 
Clear  d  for  the  hunter's  sport  in  hap]3ier  days ; 

Till  scarce  a  mile  from  the  last  tent,  a  space 

Clasping  gray  crommell  stones,  will  close  the  maze. 

There,  in  the  centre  of  that  Druid  ring, 

Arm'd  men  will  stand  around  the  Cymrian  King : — 

XLII. 

''  Tell  him  to  set  upon  the  tallest  pine 

Keen  watch,  and  wait,  until  from  Carduel's  tower. 
High  o'er  the  wood,  a  starry  light  shall  shine ; 

Not  that  the  signal,  tho'  it  nears  the  hour. 
But  when  the  light  shall  change  its  hues,  and  form 
One  orb  blood-dyed,  as  sunsets  red  with  storm ; 

XLIII. 

"  Then,  while  the  foe  their  camp  unguarded  leave, 
And  round  our  walls  their  tides  tempestuous  roll, 

To  yon  wood  pile,  the  Saxon  fortress,  cleave ; 
Be  Odin's  idol  the  Deliverer's  goal. 

Say  to  the  King,  '  In  that  funereal  fane 

Complete  thy  mission  and  thy  guide  regain 


I' " 


*    Vingolf.    Literally,  *'  The  Abode  of  Friends  ;"  the  name  fur  the  place  in  which 
the  heavenly  goddesses  assemble. 


196  KING    ARTHUR. 

XLTV. 

While  spoke  the  seer,  the  Teuton's  garb  of  mail 
The  son  of  Faul  had  donn'd,  and  bending  now, 

He  kissed  his  father's  cheek,  "  And  if  I  fail," 
He  munnur'd,  "  leave  thy  blessing  on  my  brow, 

My  father  !"     Then  the  convert  of  the  wild 

Look'd  up  to  Heaven,  and  mutely  blessed  his  child. 

XLV. 

"  Thou  wend  with  me,  proud  sire  of  dauntless  men," 
Resumed  the  seer : — ''  On  thy  arm  let  my  age 

Lean,  as  shall  thine  upon  tJieir  children !" — Then 
The  loreless  savage — the  all  gifted-sage, 

By  the  strong  bonds  of  will  and  heart  allied ; 

Went  towards  the  towers  of  Carduel,  side  by  side. 

xLvr. 
To  Crida's  camp  the  swift  song  rushing  flies ; 

Round  Odin's*  shrine  wild  Priests,  rune-muttering. 
Task  the  weird  omens  hateful  to  the  skies ; 

Pale  by  the  idol  stands  the  gray-hair'd  king ; 
And,  from  without,  the  unquiet  armament 
Booms,  in  hoarse  surge,  its  chafing  discontent. 

XLVII. 

For  in  defeat  (when  first  that  multitude 

Shrunk  from  a  foe,  and  fled  the  Cymrian  sword,) 

The  pride  of  man  the  wrath  of  gods  had  viewed ; 
Religious  horror  smote  the  palsied  horde ; 

The  field  refused,  till  priest,  and  seid,  and  charm. 

Explore  the  offence,  and  wrath  divine  disarm. 

•  As  throughout  this  twelfth  book,  Odin  representing  more  than  the  mere  Woden 
of  the  Saxons,  assumes  the  general  character  of  the  great  War  God  of  the  universal 
Teuton  Family,  and  as  it  would  be  here  both  perplexing  and  pedantic  to  mark  the 


BOOK    XII.  197 

XLVIII. 

All  day,  all  night,  glared  fires,  dark-red  and  dull 
With  mystic  gums,  before  the  Teuton  god, 

And  waved  o'er  runes  which  Mimer's  trunkless  skull 
Had  whisper'd  Odin — the  Diviner's  rod; 

And  rank  with  herbs  which  baleful  odours  breathed, 

The  bubbling  hell  juice  in  the  caldron  seethed. 

XLIX. 

Now  towards  that  hour  when  hito  coverts  dank 
Slinks  back  the  wolf;  when  to  her  callow  brood 

Veers,  thro'  still  boughs,  the  owl;  when  from  the  bank 
The  glow-worm  wanes;  w^hen  heaviest  droops  the  w^ood, 

Ere  the  faint  twitter  of  the  earliest  lark, — 

Ere  dawn  creeps  chill  and  timorous  thro'  the  dark ; 

L. 

About  that  hour,  of  all  the  dreariest, 

A  flame  leaps  up  from  the  dull  fire's  repose. 

And  shoots  weird  sparks  along  the  runes,  imprest 
On  stone  and  elm-bark,  ranged  in  ninefold  rows ; 

The  vine's  deep  flush  the  purpling  seid  assumes, 

And  the  strong  venom  coils  in  maddening  fumes. 

LI. 

Pale  grew  the  elect  Diviner's  altered  brows ; 

Swell'd  the  large  veins,  and  writhed  the  foaming  lips ; 
And  as  some  swart  and  fateful  planet  glows 

Athwart  the  disk  to  which  it  brings  eclipse ; 
So  that  strange  Pythian  madness  whose  control 
Seems  half  to  light  and  half  efface  the  soul, 

faint  distinctions  between  the  two  ;  so  in  this  portion  of  the  work,  whether  in  narra- 
tive, or  in  the  dialogue  of  the  Saxons,  the  former  appellation  of  the  Deity  of  the 
North  (Odin)  will  be  uniformly  preserved. 


198  KING    ARTHUR. 

LII. 

Broke  from  the  horror  of  his  glaring  look ; 

His  breath  that  died  in  hollow  gusts  away ; 
Seized  by  the  grasp  of  unseen  tempests,  shook 

To  its  rack'd  base  the  spirit-house  of  clay ; 
Till  the  dark  Power  made  firm  the  crushing  spell ; 
And  from  the  man  burst  forth  the  voice  of  hell. 

LIII. 

"  The  god — the  god  !  lo,  on  his  throne  he  reels  ! 

Under  his  knit  brows  glow  his  wrathful  eyes ! 
At  his  dread  feet  a  spectral  Valkyr  kneels. 

And  shrouds  her  face !     And  cloud  is  in  the  skies, 
And  neither  sun  nor  star,  nor  day  nor  night. 
But  in  the  cloud  a  steadfast  Cross  of  Light ! 

LIV. 

"  The  god — the  god !  hide,  hide  me  from  his  gaze  ! 

Its  awful  anger  burns  into  the  brain  ! 
S2)are  me,  0  spare  me !     Speak,  thy  child  obeys  ! 

What  rites  appease  thee.  Father  of  the  Slain  ?* 
What  direful  omen  do  these  signs  foreshow  ? 
What  victim  ask'st  thou  ?  Speak;  the  blood  shall  flow !" 

LV. 

Sunk  the  Possest  One — ^writhing  with  wild  throes ; 

And  one  appalling  silence  dusk'd  the  place. 
As  with  a  demon's  wing.     Anon,  arose. 

Calm  as  a  ghost,  the  soothsayer :  form  and  face 
Rigid  with  iron  sleep ;  and  hollow  fell 
From  stonelike  lips  the  hateful  oracle. 

«  Father  of  the  Slain,  Valfader.— Odin. 


BOOK    XII.  199 


LVI. 

"  A  cloud  wliere  Noma's  nurse  the  thunder  lowers ; 

A  curse  is  cleaving  to  the  Teuton  race ; 
Before  the  Cross  the  stricken  Valkyr  cowers ; 

The  Herr-god  trembles  on  his  column'd  base ; 
A  virgin's  loss  aroused  the  Teuton  strife ; 
A  virgin's  love  hath  charm'd  the  Avenger's  life ; 

LVII. 

«'  A  virgin's  blood  alone  averts  the  doom  ; 

Revives  the  Valkyr,  and  preserves  the  god. 
Whet  the  quick  steel — she  comes,  she  comes,  for  w^hom 

The  runes  glow'd  blood-red  to  the  soothsayer's  rod ! 
0  king,  whose  wrath  the  Odin-born  array'd. 
Regain  the  lost,  and  yield  the  Christian  maid !" 

LVIII. 

As  if  that  voice  had  quicken'd  some  dead  thing 
To  give  it  utterance,  so,  when  ceased  the  sound. 

The  dull  eye  fix'd,  and  the  faint  shuddering 

Stirr'd  all  the  frame ;  then  sudden  on  the  ground 

Fell  heavily  the  lumpish  inert  clay, 

From  which  the  demon  noiseless  rush'd  away. 

LIX. 

Then  the  gray  priests  and  the  gray  king  creep  near 
The  corpselike  man ;  and  sit  them  mutely  down 

In  the  still  fire's  red  vaporous  atmosphere ; 
The  bubbling  caldron  sings  and  simmers  on ; 

And  thro'  the  reeks  that  from  the  poison  rise, 

Looks  the  w^olf's  blood-lust  from  those  cruel  eyes. 


200  KING    ARTHUR. 

LX. 

So  sat  they,  musing  fell ; — when  liark,  a  shout 
Rang  loud  from  rank  to  rank,  re-echoing  deep ;    - 

Hark  to  the  tramp  of  multitudes  without ! 

Near  and  more  near  the  thickening  tumults  sweep ; 

King  Crida  wrathful  rose  ;  "  what  steps  profane 

Thy  secret  thresholds^  Father  of  the  Slain  ?" 

LXI. 

Frowning  he  strode  along  the  lurid  floors, 

And  loud,  and  loud  the  invading  footsteps  ring ; 

His  hand  impetuous  flings  apart  the  doors  : — 
"  Who  dare  insult  the  god,  and  brave  the  king  ?" 

Swift  thro'  the  throng  a  bright-haired  vision  came ; 

Those  stern  lips  falter  with  a  daughter's  name ! 

LXII. 

Those  hands  uplifted,  or  to  curse  or  smite, 

Fold  o'er  a  daughter's  head  their  tremulous  joy ! 

Oh,  to  the  natural  worship  of  delight, 

How  came  the  monstrous  dogma — to  destroy  ! 

Sure,  Heaven  foreshow'd  its  gospel  to  the  wild 

In  earth's  first  bond — the  father  and  the  child ! 

LXIII. 

While  words  yet  fail'd  the  bliss  of  that  embrace. 
The  muttering  priests,  unmoved,  each  other  eyed ; 

Then  to  the  threshold  came  their  measured  pace  : — 
"  Depart,  Profane,"  their  Pagan  pontiff  cried, 

"  Depart,  Profane,  too  near  your  steps  have  trod 

To  altars  darkened  with  an  angry  God. 


BOOK    XII.  201 

LXIV. 

"  Dire  are  the  omens !     Skulda  rides  the  clouds, 
Her  sisters  tremble"'^  at  the  Urdar  spring ; 

The  hour  demands  us — shun  the  veil  that  shrouds 
The  Priests,  the  God,  the  Victim  and  the  King." 

Shuddering,  the  crowds  retreat,  and  whispering  low, 

Spread  the  contagious  terrors  where  they  go. 

LXV. 

Then  the  stern  elders  came  to  Crida's  side. 

And  from  their  lock'd  embrace  unclasp'd  his  hands  : 

^'  Lo,"  said  their  chieftain,  "  how  the  gods  provide 
Themselves  the  offering  which  the  shrine  demands  ! 

By  Odin's  son  be  Odin's  voice  obey'd ; 

The  lost  is  found — behold,  and  yield  the  maid !" 

LXVI. 

As  when  some  hermit  saint,  in  the  old  day 

Of  the  soul's  giant  war  with  Solitude, 
From  some  bright  dream  which  wrajDt  his  life  away 

Amidst  the  spheres — unclosed  his  eyes,  and  view'd, 
'Twixt  sleep  and  waking,  vaguely  horrible, 
The  grausame  tempter  of  the  gothic  hell ; 

LXVII. 

So,  on  the  father's  bliss  abruptly  broke 
The  dreadful  memory  of  his  dismal  god  ; 

And  his  eyes  pleading  ere  his  terrors  spoke, 

Look'd  round  the  brows  of  that  foul  brotherhood. 

Then  his  big  voice  came  weak  and  strangely  mild, 

"  What  mean  those  words  ? — why  glare  ye  on  my  child  ? 

•  <'  Her  sisters  tremble,"  «&c.,  that  is,  the  other  two  Fates  (the  Present  and  the 
Past)  tremble  at  the  Well  of  Life. 


202  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXVIIT. 

"  Do  ye  not  know  her  ?     Elders,  she  is  mine, — 
My  flesh,  my  blood,  mine  age's  youngest-born  ! 

Why  are  ye  mute  ?     Why  point  to  yonder  shrine  ? 
Ay," — and  here  haughty  mth  the  joy  of  scorn 

He  raised  his  front. — "  Ay,  he  the  voice  obeyed  1 

Priests,  ye  forget, — it  was  a  Christian  maid  !" 

LXIX. 

He  ceased,  and  laugh'd  aloud,  as  humbled  fell 
Those  greedy  looks,  and  mutteringly  replied 

Faint  voices,  "  True,  so  said  the  Oracle  ! 
When  the  arch  Elder,  with  an  eager  stride 

Reach'd  child  and  sire,  and  cried,  "  See  Crida,  there, 

On  the  maid's  breast  the  Cross  that  Christians  wear  !'• 

LXX. 

Those  looks,  those  voices,  thrill'd  thro'  Genevieve, 
With  fears  as  yet  vague,  shapeless,  undefined ; 

"  Father,"  she  murmured,  "  Father,  let  us  leave 
These  dismal  precincts  ;  how  those  eyes  unkind 

Freeze  to  my  soul ;  sweet  father,  let  us  go  ; 

My  heart  to  thine  would  speak !  why  frown'st  thou  so  ?" 

LXXI. 

""  Tear  from  thy  breast  that  sign,  unhappy  one ! 

Sign  to  thy  country's  wrathful  gods  accurst ! 
Back,  priests  of  Odin,  I  am  Odin's  son. 

And  she  my  daughter ;  in  my  war-shield  nurst, 
Reared  at  your  altars !     Trample  down  the  sign, 
0  child,  and  say — the  Saxon's  God  is  mine !" 


BOOK    XII.  203 

Lxxir. 

Infant,  who  came  to  bid  a  war  relent, 

And  rob  ambition  of  its  carnage-prize, 
Is  it  on  thee  those  sombre  brows  are  bent  ? 

For  thee  the  death-greed  in  those  ravening  eyes  ? 
Thy  task  undone,  thy  gentle  prayer  unspoken  ? 
Ay,  press  the  cross ;  it  is  the  martyr's  token ! 

LXXIII. 

She  press'd  the  cross  with  one  firm  faithful  hand, 
While  one — (that  trembled  !) — clasp'd  her  father's 
knees ; 

As  clings  a  wretch,  that  sinks  in  sight  of  land. 
To  reeds  swept  with  him  down  the  weltering  seas, 

And  murmured,  "  Pardon ;  Him  whose  agony 

Was  earth's  salvation,  I  may  not  deny ! 

LXXIV. 

'^  Him  who  gave  God  the  name  I  give  to  thee, 
'  Father,' — in  Him,  in  Christ,  is  my  belief!" 

Then  Crida  turned  unto  the  priests, — "  Ye  see," 
Smiling,  he  said,  "that  I  have  done  with  grief: 

Behold  the  victim  !  be  the  God  obey'd  ! 

The  son  of  Odin  dooms  the  Christian  maid !" 

LXXV. 

He  said,  and  from  his  robe  he  wrench'd  the  hand, 
And,  where  the  gloom  was  darkest,  stalk'd  away. 

But  whispering  low,  still  pause  the  hellish  band ; 
And  dread  lest  Nature  yet  redeem  the  prey. 

And  deem  it  wise  against  such  chance  to  arm 

The  priesthood's  puissance  with  the  host's  alarm ; 


204  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXVI. 

To  bruit  abroad  the  dark  oracular  threats, 

From  which  the  Virgin's  blood  alone  can  save; 

Gird  with  infuriate  fears  the  murtherous  nets, 
And  plant  an  army  to  secure  a  grave ; 

The  whispers  cease — the  doors  one  gleam  of  day 

Give — and  then  close ; — the  blood-hound  slinks  away. 

LXXVII. 

Around  the  victim — where,  with  wandering  hand, 
Tho'  her  blind  tears  she  seems  to  search  thro'  space, 

For  him  who  had  forsaken, — circling  stand 
The  solemn  butchers;  calm  in  every  face 

And  death  in  every  he:\rt ;  till  from  the  belt 

Stretched  one  lean  hand  and  grasp'd  her  where  she  knelt. 

LXXVIII. 

And  her  wild  shriek  went  forth  and  smote  the  shrine, 
Which  echoed,  shrilling  back  the  sharp  despair. 

Thro'  the  waste  gaps  between  the  shafts  of  pine 
To  th'  unseen  father's  ear.     Before  the  glare 

Of  the  weird  fire,  the  sacrifice  they  chain 

To  stones  impress'd  with  rune  and  shamble-stain. 

LXXIX. 

Then  wait  (for  so  their  formal  rites  compel) 
Till  from  the  trance  that  still  his  senses  seals, 

Awakes  the  soothsayer  of  the  oracle ; 

At  length  with  tortured  spasms,  and  slowly,  steals 

Back  the  reluctant  life — slow  as  it  creeps 

To  one  hard-rescued  from  the  drowning  deeps. 


BOOK    XII.  .  205 

LXXX. 

And  when  from  dim,  uncertain,  swimming  eyes 
The  gaunt  long  fingers  put  the  shaggy  hair, 

And  on  the  j)riests,  the  shrine,  the  sacrifice, 
Dwelt  the  fixed  sternness  of  the  glassy  stare. 

Before  the  god  they  led  the  demon-man, 

And,  circling  round  the  two,  their  hymn  began. 

LXXXI, 

So  rapt  in  their  remorseless  ecstasy, 

They  did  not  hear  the  quick  steps  at  the  door, 

Nor  that  loud  knock,  nor  that  impatient  cry ; 

Till  shook, — till  crash 'd,  the  portals  on  the  floor, — 

Crash'd  to  the  strong  hand  of  the  fiery  Thane ; 

And  Harold's  stride  came  clanging  up  the  fane. — 

LXXXII. 

But  from  his  side  bounded  a  shape  as  light 

As  forms  that  glide  thro'  Elf  heim's  limber  air ;  • 

Swift  to  the  shrine — where  on  those  robes  of  white 
The  gloomy  hell  fires  scowled  their  sullen  glare. 

Thro'  the  death-chaunting  choir,— she  sprang,— she  prest, 

And  bowed  her  head  upon  the  victim's  breast ; 

LXXXIIT. 

And  cried,  "  With  thee,  with  thee,  to  live  or  die. 
With  thee,  my  Genevieve !"  the  Elders  raised 

Their  hands  in  wrath,  when  from  as  stern  an  eye 
And  brow  erect  as  theirs,  they  shrunk  amazed — 

And  Harold  spoke,  "  Ye  priests  of  Odin,  hear ! 

Your  Gods  are  mine,  their  voices  I  revere. 

VOL.  II.  14 


206  KING    ARTHUR. 

LXXXIV. 

"  Voices  in  winds,  in  groves,  in  hollow  caves, 
Oracular  dream,  or  runic  galdra  sought ; 

But  ages  ere  from  Don's  ancestral  waves 

Such  wizard  signs  the  Scythian  Odin  brought, 

A  voice  that  needs  no  priesthood's  sacred  art. 

Some  earlier  God  placed  in  the  human  heart. 

LXXXV. 

"  I  bow  to  charms  that  doom  embattled  walls ; 

To  dreams  revealing  no  unworthy  foe ; 
A  warrior's  God  in  Glory's  clarion  calls ; 

Where  war-steeds  snort  and  hurtling  standards  flow ; 
But  when  weak  women  for  strong  men  must  die, 
My  Man's  proud  nature  gives  your  Gods  the  lie  ! 

LXXXVI. 

'-  If, — not  yon  seer  by  fumes  and  dreams  beguiled, 
But,  Odin's  self  stood  where  his  image  stands, 

Against  the  god  I  w^ould  protect  my  child  ! 

Ha,Crida! — come! — ^/^t/ child  in  chains! — those  hands 

Lifted  to  smite  ! — and  thou,  whose  kingly  bann 

Arms  nations, — wake,  0  statue,  into  man !" 

LXXXVII. 

For  from  his  lair,  and  to  his  liegeman's  side 

Had  Crida  listening  strode  :  When  ceased  the  Thane, 

His  voice,  comprest  and  tremulous,  replied, — 

"  The  life  thou  plead'st  for  doth  these  shrines  profane, 

In  Odin's  son  a  father  lives  no  more ; 

Yon  maid  adores  the  God  our  foes  adore." 


BOOK    XII.  207 

LXXXVIII. 

"And  I — and  I,  stern  king!" — Genevra  cries, 
"  Her  God  is  mine,  and  if  that  faith  is  crime, 

Be  just — and  take  a  twofold  sacrifice  !" 

"  Cease,"  cried  the  Tliane, — "  is  this,  ye  Powers^  a  time 

For  kings  and  chiefs  to  lean  on  idle  blades, — 

Our  leaders  dreamers^  and  our  victims  maids  ? 

LXXXIX. 

^'  Be  vaiying  gods  by  varying  tribes  addrest, 
I  scorn  no  gods  that  worthy  foes  adore ; 

Brave  was  the  arm  that  humbled  Harold's  crest, 
And  large  the  heart  that  did  his  child  restore. 

To  all  the  valiant,  Gladsheim's  Halls  unclose  ;* 

In  Heaven  the  comrades  were  on  Earth  the  foes. 

xc. 

"  And  if  our  Gods  are  wrath,  what  wonder,  when 
Their  traitor  priests  creep  whispering  coward  fears ; 

Unnerve  the  arms  and  rot  the  hearts  of  men, 

And  filch  the  conquest  from  victorious  spears  ? — 

Yes,  reverend  Elders,  one  such  priest  I  found. 

And  cheer'd  my  bandogs  on  the  meaner  hound !" 

XCT. 

"  Be  dumb,  blasphemer,"  cried  the  Pontiff  seer, 
"  Depart,  or  dread  the  vengeance  of  the  shrine ; 

Depart  or  armies  from  these  floors  shall  hear 

How  chiefs  can  mock  what  nations  deem  divine ; 

Then,  let  her  Christian  faith  thy  daughter  boast, 

And  brave  the  answer  of  the  Teuton  host !" 

*  Gladshcim,  Heaven  ;  Walhalla,  ("  the  Hall  of  the  Chosen,")  did  not  exclude 
brave  foes  who  fell  in  battle. 


208  KING    ARTHUR. 

xcir. 

A  paler  hue  shot  o'er  the  hardy  face 

Of  the  great  Earl,  as  thus  the  Elder  spoke ; 

But  calm  he  answered,  "  Summon  Odm's  race ; 
On  me  and  mine  the  Teuton's  wrath  invoke  1 

Let  sliuddering  fathers  learn  wdiat  priests  can  dream, 

And  warriors  judge  if  /  their  Gods  blaspheme  ! 

XCIII. 

"  But  peace,  and  hearken. — To  the  king  I  speak : — ■ 
With  mine  own  lithsmen,  and  such  willing  aid 

As  Harold's  tromps  arouse, — ^yon  walls  I  seek ; 
Be  Cymri's  throne  the  ransom  of  the  maid. 

On  Carduel's  wall,  if  Saxon  standards  wave, 

Let  Odin's  arms  the  needless  victim  save ! 

xciv. 

"  Grant  me  till  noon  to  prove  wdiat  men  are  worth, 
Who  serve  the  War  God  by  the  warlike  Deed ; 

Refuse  me  this.  King  Crida,  and  henceforth 

Let  chiefs  more  prized  the  Mercian  armies  lead ; 

For  I,  blunt  Harold,  join  no  cause  with  those 

Who,  wolves  for  victims,  are  as  hares  to  foes !" 

xcv. 
Scornful  he  ceased,  and  leaned  upon  his  sword ; 

Whispering  the  Priests,  and  silent  Crida,  stood. 
A  living  Thor  to  that  barbarian  horde 

Was  the  bold  Thane, — and  ev'n  the  men  of  blood 
Felt  Harold's  loss  amid  the  host's  dismay 
Would  rend  the  clasp  that  link'd  the  wild  array. 


BOOK    XII.  209 

XCVI. 

At  length  out  spoke  the  priestly  chief,  "'  The  gods 
Endure  the  boasts,  to  bow  the  pride,  of  men ; 

The  Well  of  Wisdom  sinks  in  Ilelfs  abode ; 
The  Laeca  shines  beside  the  bautasten,* 

And  Truth  too  oft  illumes  the  eyes  that  scorned 

In  the  death-flash  from  which  in  vain  it  warned. 

XCVII. 

"  Be  the  delay  the  pride  of  man  demands 

Vouchsafed,  the  nothingness  of  man  to  show  ! 

The  gods  unsoftened,  march  thy  futile  bands : 
Till  noon  we  spare  the  victim ; — seek  the  foe  ! 

But  when  with  equal  shadows  rests  the  sun — 

The  altar  reddens^  or  the  walls  are  won !" 

XCVIII. 

"  So  be  it,"  the  Thane  replied,  and  sternly  smiled ; 

Then  towards  the  sister-twain,  vrith  pitying  brow. 
Whispering  he  came, — "  Fair  friend  of  ELarold's  child, 

Let  our  own  gods  at  least  be  with  thee  now ; 
Pray  that  the  Asas  bless  the  Teuton  strife. 
And  guide  the  swords  that  strike  for  thy  sweet  hfe." 

xcix. 

"  Alas  !"  cried  Genevieve,  "  Christ  came  to  save. 
Not  slay :  He  taught  the  weakest  how  to  die ; 

For  me,  for  me,  a  nation  ghit  the  grave ! 

That  nation  Christ's,  and — No,  the  victim  II 

Not  now  for  life,  my  father,  see  me  kneel, 

But  one  kind  look, — and  then,  how  blunt  the  steel !" 

*  The  Scin  Lseca,  or  shining  corpse,  tliat  was  seen  before  thebautaslen,  or  burial- 
stone  of  a  dead  hero  was  supposed  to  possess  prophetic  powers,  and  to  guard  the 
treasures  of  the  grave. 


210  KING    ARTHUR. 

C. 

And  Cricla  moved  not  !     Moist  were  Harold's  eyes ; 

Bending,  lie  whisper'd  in  Genevra's  ear, 
^^  Thy  presence  is  her  safety  !     Time  denies 

All  words  but  these  ; — hope  in  the  brave  ;  revere 
The  gods  they  serve  : — by  acts  our  faith  we  test ; 
The  holiest  gods  are  where  the  men  are  best." 

CI. 

With  this  he  turned,  '^  Ye  2:)riests/'  he  called  aloud^ 
"  On  every  head  within  these  walls,  I  set 

Dread  weregeld  for  the  compact ;  blood  for  blood  !" 
Then  o'er  his  brows  he  closed  his  bassinet, 

Shook  the  black  death-pomj:)  of  his  shadowy  plume^ 

And  his  arm'd  stride  was  lost  amidst  the  gloom. — 

CII. 

And  still  poor  Genevieve  with  mournful  eyes 
Gazed  on  the  father,  whose  averted  brows 

And  more  of  darkness  for  her  soul  than  lies 
Under  the  lids  of  death.     The  murmurous 

And  lurid  air  buzzed  with  a  si:hostlike  sound 

From  patient  murder's  iron  lip ; — and  round 

cm. 

The  delicate  form  which,  like  a  Psyche,  seemed 
Beauty  sublimed  into  the  type  of  soul. 

Fresh  from  such  stars  as  ne'er  on  Paphos  beamed, 
When  first  on  love  the  chastening  vision  stole, — 

The  sister  virgin  coil'd  her  clasp  of  woe ; 

Ev'n  as  that  Sorrow  which  the  Soul  must  know 


BOOK    XII.  211 

CIV. 

Till  Soul  and  Love  meet  never  more  to  part. 

At  last,  from  under  his  wide  mantle's  fold, 
The  strain'd  arms  lock'd  on  his  loud-beating  heart, 

(As  if  the  anguish  which  the  king  controll'd, 
The  man  could  stifle,) — Crida  toss'd  on  high; — 
And  nature  conquer'd  in  the  father's  cry ! 

cv. 

Over  the  kneeling  form  swept  his  gray  hair ; 

On  the  soft  upturned  eyes  prest  his  wild  kiss ; 
And  then  recoiling  with  a  livid  stare, 

He  faced  the  priests,  and  muttered,  "  Dotage  this ! 
Crida  is  old, — come — come,"  and  from  the  ring 
Beckoned  their  chief,  and  went  forth  tottering. 

cvi. 

Out  of  the  fane,  up  where  the  stair  of  pine 

Wound  to  the  summit  of  the  camp's  rough  tower. 

King  Crida  passed.     On  moving  armour  shine 
The  healthful  beams  of  the  fresh  morning  hour; 

He  hears  the  barb's  shrill  neigh, — the  clarion's  swell. 

And  half  his  armies  march  to  Carduel. 

CVII. 

Far  in  the  van,  like  Odin's  fatal  bird 

Wing'd  for  its  feast,  sails  Harold's  raven  plume. 

Now  from  the  city's  heart  a  shout  is  heard. 

Wall,  bastion,  tower,  their  steel-clad  life  resume ; 

Far  shout !  faint  forms  !  yet  seem  they  loud  and  clear 

To  that  strain'd  eyeball  and  that  feverish  ear. 


212  KING    ARTHUR. 

CVIII. 

But  not  on  hosts  that  march  bj  Harold's  side, 

Gazed  the  stern  priest,  who  stood  with  Crida  there ; 

On  sullen  gloomy  groupes — discattered  wide, 
Grudging  the  conflict  they  refuse  to  share, 

Or  seated  round  rude  tents  and  piled  spears : 

Circling  the  mutter  of  rebellious  fears ; 

CIX. 

Or,  near  the  temple  fort,  with  folded  arms 

On  their  broad  breasts,  waiting  the  deed  of  blood : 

On  these  he  gazed — to  gloat  on  the  alarms 
That  made  lihn  monarch  of  that  multitude  ! 

Not  one  man  there  had  pity  in  his  eye. 

And  the  priest  smiled, — then  turned  to  watch  the  sky. 

ex. 

And  the  sky  deepen'd,  and  the  time  rush'd  on. 

And  Cricla  sees  the  ladders  on  the  wall ; 
And  dust-clouds  gather  round  his  gonfanon ; 

And  thro'  the  dust-clouds  glittering  rise  and  fall 
The  meteor  lights  of  helms,  and  shields,  and  glaives ; 
Up  o'er  the  rampires  mount  the  labouring  waves ; 

cxi. 

And  joyous  rings  the  Saxon's  battle  shout ; 

And  Cymri's  angel  cry  wails  like  despair ; 
And  from  the  Dragon  Keep  a  light  shines  out, 

Calm  as  a  single  star  in  tortured  air, 
To  whose  high  peace,  aloof  from  storms,  in  vain 
Looks  a  lost  navy  from  the  violent  main. 


BOOK    XII.  213 

CXII. 

Now  on  the  nearest  wall  the  Pale  Horse  stands ; 

Now  from  the  wall  the  Pale  Horse  lightens  down ; 
And  flash  and  vanish,  file  on  file,  the  bands 

Into  the  rent  heart  of  the  howling  town ; 
And  the  Priest  paling  frown'd  upon  the  sun, — 
Though  the  sky  deepened  and  the  time  rush'd  on. 

CXIII. 

When  from  the  camp  around  the  fane,  there  rose 
Ineffable  cries  of  wonder,  wrath,  and  fear, 

With  some  strange  light  that  scares  the  sunshine,  glows 
O'er  Sabra's  waves  the  crimson'd  atmosphere, 

And  dun  from  out  the  widening,  widening  glare, 

Like  Hela's  serpents,  smoke-reeks  wind  thro'  air. 

cxiv. 
Forth  look'd  the  king  appall'd !  and  where  his  masts 

Soared  from  the  verge  of  the  far  forest-land. 
He  hears  the  crackling,  as  when  vernal  blasts 

Shiver  Groninga's  pines — "  Lo,  the  same  hand," 
Cried  the  fierce  priest,"wliich  sway'd  the  soothsayer's  rod , 
Writes  now  the  last  runes  of  thine  angry  god !" 

cxv. 

And  here  and  there,  and  wirbelling  to  and  fro. 

Confused,  distraught,  pale  thousands  spread  the  plain; 

Some  snatch  their  arms  in  haste,  and  yelling  go 

Where  the  fleets  burn ;  some  creep  around  the  fane 

Like  herds  for  shelter ;  prone  on  earth  lie  some 

Shrieking,  '-  The  Twilight*  of  the  Gods  hath  come  !" 

•  The  Twilight  of  the  Gods  (Ragnorok),  viz.,  the  Last  Day,  when  the  world 
shall  be  destroyed  in  fire. 


214  KING    ARTHUR. 

cxvi. 

And  the  great  glare  hath  reddened  o'er  the  town. 
And  seems  the  strife  it  gildeth  to  appall ; 

Flock  back  dim  straggling  Saxons,  gazing  down 
The  lurid  vaUies  from  the  jagged  wall, 

Still  as  on  Cuthite  towers  Chaldean  seers, 

When  some  red  portent  flamed  into  the  spheres. 

ex  VII. 

And  now  from  brake  and  copse — from  combe  and  dell, 
Gleams  break ; — steel  flashes ; — helms  on  helms  arise ; 

Faint  heard  at  first, — now  near,  now  thunderous, — swell 
The  Cj' mrian  mingled  with  the  Baltic  cries ; 

And,  loud  alike  in  each, — exulting  came 

War's  noblest  music — a  Deliverer's  name. 

CXVIlf. 

"  Arthur ! — for  Arthur  ! — Arthur  is  at  hand ! 

AYoe,  Saxons,  woe  !"  Then  from  the  rampart  height 
Yanish'd  each  watcher ;  while  the  rescue-band 

Sweep  the  clear  slopes ;  and  not  a  foe  in  sight ! 
And  now  the  beacon  on  the  Dragon  Keep 
Springs  from  pale  lustre  into  hues  blood-deep. 

CXIX. 

And  on  that  tower  stood  forth  a  lonely  man ; 

Full  on  his  form  the  beacon  glory  fell ; 
And  joy  revived  each  sinking  Cymrian ; 

There,  the  still  Prophet  watched  o'er  Carduel ! 
Back  o'er  the  walls,  and  back  thro'  gate  and  breach, 
Now  ebbs  the  war,  like  billows  from  the  beach. 


BOOK    XII.  215 

cxx. 

Along  the  battlements  swift  crests  arise, 

Swift  followed  by  avenging,  smiting  ])rands ; 

And  fear  and  flight  are  in  the  Saxon  cries ! 
The  Portals  vomit  bands  on  hurtling  bands ; 

And  lo,  wide  streaming  o'er  the  helms, — again 

The  Pale  Horse  flings  on  angry  winds  its  mane ! 

cxxi. 
And  facing  still  the  foe,  but  backward  borne 

By  his  own  men,  towers  high  one  kingiiest  chief; 
Deep  thro'  the  distance  rolls  his  shout  of  scorn. 

And  the  grand  anguish  of  a  hero's  grief. 
Bounded  the  Priest ! — "  The  Gods  are  heard  at  last ! — 
Proud  Harold  flieth ; — and  the  noon  is  past ! 

CXXII. 

'^  Come,  Crida,  come  !"    Up  as  from  heavy  sleep 
The  gray-hair'd  giant  raised  his  awful  head  \ 

As,  after  calmest  w^aters,  the  swift  leap 
Of  the  strong  torrent  rushes  to  its  bed, — 

So  the  new  passion  seized  and  changed  the  form, 

As  if  the  rest  had  braced  it  for  the  storm. 

CXXIII. 

No  grief  was  in  the  iron  of  that  brow^ ; 

Age  cramp'd  no  sinew  in  that  mighty  arm ; 
"  Go,"  he  said,  sternly,  "  where  it  fits  thee,  thou  : 

Thy  post  with  Odin — mine  wdth  Managarm  1* 
Let  priests  avert  the  danger  kings  must  dare ; 
My  shrine  yon  standard,  and  my  children — there  P' 

*  Manasrarm,  the  Monster  Wolf  (symbolically,  war).     *'  He  will  be  fill'd  with 
the  blo.'d  of  men  who  draw  near  their  end,''  &,c.     (Pkose  Euua.) 


216  KING    ARTHUR. 

cxxiv. 

So  from  the  height  he  swept — as  doth  a  cloud 
That  brings  a  tempest  when  it  sinks  below ; 

Swift  strides  a  chief  amidst  the  ja^rring  crowd ; 
Swift  in  stern  ranks  the  rent  disorders  grow ; 

Swiftj  as  in  sails  becalm'd  swells  forth  the  wind, 

The  wide  mass  quickens  with  the  one  strong  mind. 

cxxv. 

Meanwhile  the  victim  to  the  Demon  vow^'d, 

Knelt ;  every  thought  wing'd  for  the  Angel  goal, 

And  ev'n  the  terror  which  the  form  had  bow'd 

Search'd  but  new  sweetness  where  it  shook  the  soul. 

Self  was  forgot,  and  to  the  Eternal  Ear 

Prayer  but  for  others  spoke  the  human  fear. 

CXXVI. 

And  when  at  moments  from  that  rapt  communion 
With  the  Invisible  Holy,  those  young  arms 

Clasp'd  round  her  neck,  to  childhood's  happy  union 
In  the  old  days  recalled  her ;  such  sweet  charms 

Did  Comfort  weave,  that  in  the  sister's  breast 

Grief  like  an  infant  sobb'd  itself  to  rest. 

CXXVII. 

Up  leapt  the  solemn  priests  from  dull  repose : 
The  fires  were  fann'd  as  with  a  sudden  wind ; 

While  shrieking  loud,  "  Hark,  hark,  the  conquering  foes ! 
Haste,  haste,  the  victim  to  the  altar  bind !" 

Rush'd  to  the  shrine  the  haggard  Slaughter-Chief. — 

As  the  strong  gusts  that  vv  hirl  the  fallen  leaf 


BOOK    XII.  217 

CXXVIII. 

r  the  month  when  wolves  descend,  the  barharous  hands 
Plunge  on  the  prey  of  their  deUrious  wrath, 

Wrench'd  from  Genevra's  clasp ; — Lo,  where  she  stands, 
On  earth  no  anchor, — is  she  less  like  Faith  ? 

The  same  smile  firmly  sad,  the  same  calm  eye, 

The  same  meek  strength ; — strength  to  forgive  and  die ! 

CXXIX. 

'^  Hear  us,  0  Odin,  in  this  last  despair ! 

Hear  us,  and  save !"  the  Pontifi:'  call'd  aloud ; 
"  By  the  Child's  blood  we  shed,  thy  children  spare !" 

And  the  knife  glitter'd  o'er  the  breast  that  bow'd. 
Dropp'd  blade ; — fell  priest ! — blood  chokes  a  gurgling 

groan ; 
Blood, — blood  not  Gliristian^  dyes  the  altar  stone  ! 

cxxx. 

Deep  in  the  doomer's  breast  it  sank — the  dart ; 

As  if  from  Fate  it  came  invisibly ; 
Where  is  the  hand  ? — from  what  dark  hush  shall  start 

Foeman  or  fiend  ? — no  shape  appalls  the  eye. 
No  sound  the  ear ; — ice-lock'd  each  coward  breath  ; 
The  Power  the  Deathsmen  call'd,  hath  heard  them — 
Death ! 

CXXXI. 

While  yet  the  stupor  stuns  the  circle  there. 

Fierce  shrieks— loud  feet— come  rushing  thro'  the  doors; 

Women  with  outstretch'd  arms  and  tossing  hair, 
And  flying  warriors,  shake  the  solemn  floors ; 

Thick  as  the  birds  storm-driven  on  the  decks 

Of  some  lone  ship — the  last  an  ocean  wrecks. 


218  KING    ARTHUR. 

CXXXII. 

And  where  on  tumult,  tumult  whirl'd  and  roar'd, 
Shrill'd  cries,  "  The  fires  around  us  and  behind, 

And  the  last  Fire-God,  and  the  Flaming  Sword  !"* 
And  from  witliout,  like  that  destroying  wind 

In  which  the  world  shall  perish,  grides  and  sweeps 

Victory — swift-cleaving  thro'  the  battle  deeps  ! — 

CXXXITI. 

Victory,  by  shouts  of  terrible  rapture  known. 
Thro'  crashing  ranl^s  it  drives  in  iron  rain ; 

Borne  on  the  wings  of  fire  it  blazes  on ; 
It  halts  its  storm  before  the  fortress  fane ; 

And  thro'  the  doors,  and  thro'  the  chinks  of  pine. 

Flames  its  red  breath  upon  the  paling  shrine. 

cxxxiv. 
Eoused  to  their  demon  courage  by  the  dread 

Of  the  wild  hour,  the  priests  a  voice  have  found ; 
To  pious  horror  show  their  sacred  dead. 

Invoke  the  vengeance,  and  explore  the  ground ; 
When,  like  the  fiend  in  monkish  legends  known. 
Sprang  a  grim  image  on  the  altar  stone ! 

CXXXV. 

The  w^olf's  hide  bristled  on  the  shaggy  breast, 

Over  the  brows,  the  forest  buffalo 
With  horn  impending  arm'd  the  grisly  crest. 

From  which  the  swart  eye  sent  its  savage  glow. 
Long  shall  the  Saxon  dreams  that  shape  recall, 
And  ghastly  legends  teem  wdth  tales  of  Faul  if 

*  "And  the  last  Fire-God  and  the  Flaming  Sword,"  i.  e  ,  Surtur  the  genius,  who 
dwells  in  the  region  of  fire  (Muspelheini),  wliose  flaming  sword  shall  vanquish  the 
gods  themselves  in  tlie  last  day.     (Pkosk  Euda.) 

J-  Faul  is  indeed  the  name  of  one  of  the  malignant  Powers  peculiarly  dreaded 


BOOK    XII.  219 

cxxxvi. 

Needs  liere  to  tell,  that  when,  at  Merlin's  liest, 
Faul  led  to  Harold's  tent  the  Saxon  maid, 

The  wrathful  Thane  had  chased  the  skulking  priest, 
From  the  paled  ranks,  that  evil  Bode'-'  dismay'd  : — 

And  the  grim  tidings  of  the  rite  to  come 

Flew  lip  to  lip  thro'  that  awed  Heathendom. 

CXXXVII. 

Foretaught  by  Merlin  of  her  mission  there. 
Scarce  to  her  father's  heart  Genevra  sprung 

Than  (while  most  soften'd)  her  impassioned  prayer 
Pierced  to  its  human  deeps;  and,  roused  and  stung 

By  that  keen  pit}^,  keenest  in  the  brave, — 

Strength  felt  why  strength  is  given,  and  rush'd  to  save. 

CXXXVIII. 

Amidst  those  quick  emotions,  half  forgot, 

Followed  the  tutored  furtive  Aleman ; 
On,  when  the  portals  crash'd,  still  heeded  not. 

Stole  his  light  step  behind  the  striding  Thane. 
From  coign  to  shaft  the  practised  glider  crept, 
A  shadow,  lost  Avhere  shadoAvs  darkest  slept. 

CXXXIX. 

And  safe  and  screened  the  idol  god  behind, 

He  who  once  lurked  to  slay,  kept  watch  to  save  : — 

Now  there  he  stood !     And  the  same  altar  shrined 
The  wild  man,  the  wild  god !  and  up  the  nave 

Flight  flowed  on  flight ;  and  near  and  loud,  the  name 

Of  '  Arthur'  borne  as  on  a  whirlwind  came. 

by  the  Saxons, —  a  name  that   I   cannot  discover  to  have  been  known  to  other 
branches  of  the  Gre  it  Teuton  Family. 
•   Bode,  Saxon  word  for  messenger. 


220  KIXG    ARTHUR. 

CXL. 

Down  from  tlie  altar  to  the  victim's  side, 

While  yet  shrunk  back  the  priests — the  savage  leapt^ 
And  with  quick  steel  gash'd  the  strong  cords  that  tied ; 

When  round  them  both  the  rallying  vengeance  swept ; 
Raised  every  arm ; — 0  joy  ! — the  enchanted  glaive 
Shines  o'er  the  threshold  !  is  there  time  to  save  ? 


CXLI. 

Whirls  thro'  the  air  a  torch, — it  flies — it  falls  ^ 

Into  the  centre  of  the  murderous  throng! 

Dread  herald  of  dread  steps !  the  conscious  halls 
Quake  where  the  falchion  flames  and  fleets  along ; 

Tho'  crowd  on  crowd  behold  the  falchion  cleave ! — 

The  Silver  Shield  rests  over  Genevieve  ! 


cxLir. 

Bright  as  the  shape  that  smote  the  Assyrian, 
The  fulgent  splendor  from  the  arms  divine 

Paled  the  hell  fires  round  God's  elected  Man, 
And  burst  like  Truth  upon  the  demon-shrine. 

Among  the  thousands  stood  the  Conquering  One, 

Still,  lone,  and  unresisted  as  a  sun ! 

CXLIIT. 

Now  thro'  the  doors,  commingling  side  by  side, 
Saxon  and  Cymrian  struggle  hand  in  hand ; 

For  there  the  war,  in  its  fast  ebbing  tide, 

Flings  its  last  prey — there,  Crida  takes  his  stand ; 

There  his  co-monarchs  hail  a  funeral  pyre 

That  opes  Walhalla  from  the  grave  of  fire. 


BOOK    XII.  221 

CXLIV. 

And  as  a  tiger  swept  aclown  a  flood 

With  meaner  beasts,  that  dyes  the  howling  water 
Which  whirls  it  onward,  wdth  a  waste  of  blood  ; 

And  gripes  a  stay  with  fangs  that  leave  the  slaughter. 
So  where  halts  Crida,  groans  and  falls  a  foe — 
And  deep  in  gore  his  steps  receding  go. 

CXLV. 

And  his  large  sword  has  made  in  reeking  air 

Broad  space  (thro'  which,  around  the  golden  ring 

That  crownlike  clasps  the  sweep  of  his  gray  hair). 
Shine  the  tatl  helms  of  many  a  Teuton  king. 

Lord  of  the  West — broad-breasted  Chevaline ; 

And  Ymrick's  son  of  Hengist's  giant  line; 

CXLVI. 

Fierce  Sibert,  throned  by  Britain's  kinghest  river, 
And  Elrid,  honoured  in  Northumbrian  homes ; 

And  many  a  sire  whose  stubborn  soul  for  ever 

Shadows  the  fields  where  England's  thunder  comes. 

High  o'er  them  all  his  front  gray  Crida  rears. 

As  some  old  oak  whose  crest  a  forest  clears. 

CXLVII. 

High  o'er  them  all,  that  front  fierce  Arthur  sees, 
And  knows  the  arch  invader  of  the  land. 

Swift  thro'  the  chiefs — swift  path  his  falchion  frees; 
Corpse  falls  on  corpse  before  the  avenger  s  hand : 

For  fair-hair'd,  J^lla,  Cantia's  maids  shall  wail, 

Hurl'd  o'er  the  dead,  rings  Elrid's  crashing  mail ; 
VOL.  n.  15 


222  KING    ARTHUR. 


CXLVIII. 

His  follower's  arms  stunn'd  Sibert's  might  receive, 
And  from  the  sure  death  snatch  their  bleeding  lord ; 

And  now  behold,  0  fearful  Genevieve, 

O'er  thy  doom'd  father  shines  the  charmed  sword ! 

And  shaking,  as  it  shone,  the  glorious  blade, 

The  hand  for  very  wrath  the  death  delay'd. 

CXLIX. 

"  At  last,  at  last  we  meet,  on  Cymri's  soil ; 

And  foot  to  foot !     Destroyer  of  my  shrines, 
And  murderer  of  my  people  !     Ay,  recoil 

Before  the  doom  thy  quailing  soul  divines ! 
Ay — turn  thine  eyes, — nor  hosts  nor  flight  can  save ! 
Thy  foe  is  Arthur — and  these  halls  thy  grave !" 

CL. 

^'Flight,"  laughed  the  king,  whose  glance  had  wandered 
round, 

Where  thro'  the  throng  had  pierced  a  woman's  cry, 
"  Flight  for  a  chief,  by  Saxon  warriors  crown'd, 

And  from  a  Walloon  ! — this  is  my  reply  !" 
And,  both  hands  heaving  up  the  sword  enorme. 
Swept  the  swift  orbit  round  the  luminous  form ; 


CLT. 

Full  on  the  gem  the  iron  drives  its  course. 

And  shattering  clinks  in  splinters  on  the  floor ; 

The  foot  unsteadied  by  tlie  blow's  spent  force. 
Slides  on  the  smoothness  of  the  soil  of  gore ; 

Gore,  quench  the  blood-thirst !  guard,  0  soil,  the  guest ! 

For  Freedom's  heel  is  on  the  Invader's  breast ! 


BOOK    XII.  22 


o 


CLII. 

When,  swift  beneath  the  flasliing  of  the  bhide. 
When,  swift  before  the  bosom  of  the  foe, 

She  sprang,  she  came,  she  knelt, — the  guardian  maid ! 
And,  starthng  vengeance  from  the  righteous  blow, 

Cried,  "  Spare,  Oh  spare,  this  sacred  life  to  me, 

A  father's  life  I — I  would  have  died  for  thee  !" 

CLHI. 

While  thus  within,  the  Christian  God  prevails, 

Without  the  idol  temple,  fast  and  far. 
Like  rolling  storm-wrecks,  shattered  by  the  gales, 

Fly  the  dark  fragments  of  the  Heathen  War, 
Where,  thro'  the  fires  that  flash  from  camp  to  wave, 
Escape  the  land  that  locks  them  in  its  grave  ? 

CLIV. 

When  by  the  Hecla  of  their  burning  fleet 
Dismay'd  amidst  the  marts  of  Carduel, 

The  Saxons  rush'd  without  the  walls  to  meet 

The  Viking's  swords,  which  their  mad  terrors  swell 

Into  a  host — assaulted,  rear  and  van. 

Scarce  smote  the  foe  before  the  flight  began. 

CLV. 

In  vain  were  Harold's  voice,  and  name,  and  deeds. 
Unnerved  by  omen,  priest,  and  shapeless  fear. 

And  less  by  man  than  their  own  barbarous  creeds 
Appall'd, — a  God  in  every  shout  they  hear, 

And  in  their  blazinsc  barks  behokl  unfurl'd, 

The  wings  of  Muspell*  to  consume  the  world. 

*  Muspell,  Fire  ;  Muspelheim,  the  region  of  Fire,  the  final  destroyer. 


224  KING    ARTHUR. 

cLvi. 

Yet  still  awhile  the  heart  of  the  great  Thane, 
And  the  stout  few  that  gird  the  gonfanon, 

Build  a  steel  bulwark  on  the  midmost  plain, 
That  stem^  all  Cjmri, — so  Despair  fights  on. 

When  from  the  camp  the  new  volcanoes  spring, 

With  sword  and  fire  he  comes, — the  Dragon  King ! 

CLVII. 

Then  all,  save  Harold,  shriek  to  Hope  farewell ; 

Melts  the  last  barrier ;  through  the  clearing  space. 
On  towards  the  camp  the  Cymrian  chiefs  compel 

The  ardent  followers  from  the  tempting  chase ; 
Thro'  Crida's  ranks  to  Arthu/s  side  they  gain, 
And  blend  two  streams  in  one  resistless  main. 

CLVIII. 

True  to  his  charge  as  chief,  mid  all  disdain 
Of  recreant  lithsmen — Harold's  iron  soul 

Sees  the  storm  sweep  beyond  it  o'er  the  plain ; 
And  lofty  duties,  yet  on  earth,  controul 

The  yearnings  for  Walhalla : — Where  the  day 

Paled  to  the  burning  ships — he  towered  away. 

CLIX. 

And  with  him,  mournful,  drooping,  rent  and  torn, 
But  captive  not — the  Pale  Horse  dragg'd  its  mane. 

Beside  the  fire-reflecting  waves,  forlorn. 

As  ghosts  that  gaze  on  Phlegethon — the  Thane 

Saw  listless  leaning  o'er  the  silent  coasts. 

The  spectre  wrecks  of  what  at  morn  were  hosts. 


BOOK  XII.  225 

CLX. 

Tears  rush'd  to  burning  eyes,  and  choked  awhile 
The  trumpet  music  of  his  manly  voice, 

At  length  he  spoke  :  "  And  are  ye  then  so  vile  ! 
A  death  of  straw !  Is  that  the  Teuton's  choice  ? 

By  all  our  gods,  I  hail  that  reddening  sky, 

And  bless  the  burning  fleets  wdiich  flight  deny ! 

CLXI. 

''  Lo,  yet  the  thunder  clothes  the  charger's  mane, 
As  when  it  crested  Hengist's  helmet  crown ! 

What  ye  have  lost — an  hour  can  yet  regain ; 
Life  has  no  path  so  short  as  to  renown ! 

Shrunk  if  your  ranks, — when  first  from  Albion's  shore 

Your  sires  carved  Kingdoms,  were  their  numbers  more  ? 

CLXII. 

'■'  If  not  your  valour,  let  your  terrors  speak. 

Where  fly  ? — what  path  can  lead  you  from  the  foes  ? 
Where  hide  ? — what  cavern  wnll  not  vengeance  seek  ? 

What  shun  ye  ?  Death  ? — Death  smites  ye  in  repose ! 
Back  to  your  king ;  from  Hela  snatch  the  brave — 
We  best  escape,  when  most  we  scorn,  the  grave." 

CLxni. 

Boused  by  the  words,  tho'  half  reluctant  still. 
The  listless  ranks  re-form  their  slow  array, 

Sullen  but  stern  they  labour  up  the  hill. 

And  gain  the  brow ! — In  smouldering  embers  lay 

The  castled  camp,  and  slanting  sunbeams  shed 

Light  o'er  the  victors — quiet  o'er  the  dead. 


226  KING     ARTHUR. 

CLXTV. 

Hush'd  was  the  roar  of  war — the  conquered  ground 
Waved  with  the  ghtter  of  the  Cymrian  spears ; 

The  temple  fort  the  Dragon  standard  crown'd ; 
And  Christian  anthems  peal'd  on  Pagan  ears : 

The  Mercian  halts  his  bands — their  front  survej^s ; 

No  fierce  eye  kindles  to  his  fiery  gaze. 

CLXV. 

One  dull,  disheartened,  but  not  dastard  gloom 
Clouds  every  brow, — like  men  compelled  to  die, 

Who  see  no  hope  that  can  elude  the  doom, 
Prepared  to  Ml  but  powerless  to  defy. 

Not  those  the  ranks,  yon  ardent  hosts  to  face ! 

The  Hour  had  conquered  earth's  all  conquering  race. 

CLXVI. 

The  leader  paused,  and  into  artful  show. 
Doubling  the  numbers  with  extended  wing, 

*^  Here  halt,"  he  said,  "  to  yonder  hosts  I  go 
With  terms  of  peace  or  war  to  Cymri's  king." 

Tie  turned,  and  towards  the  victor's  bright  array, 

With  tromj)  and  herald,  strode  his  bitter  way. 

CLXVIT. 

Before  the  signs  to  war  s  sublime  belief 
Sacred,  the  host  disparts  its  hushing  wave. 

Moved  by  the  sight  of  that  renowned  chief, 

Joy  stills  the  shout  that  might  insult  the  brave; 

And  princeliest  guides  the  stately  foeman  bring, 

Where  Odin's  temple  shrines  the  Christian  king. 


BOOK  XII.  227 

CLXVIII. 

The  North's  fierce  idol,  rolFd  in  pools  of  blood, 
Lies  criish'd  before  the  Cross  of  Nazareth. 

Crouch'd  on  the  splintered  fragments  of  their  god, 
Silent  as  clouds  from  which  the  tempest's  breath 

Has  gone, — the  butchers  of  the  priesthood  rest. — 

Each  heavy  brow  bent  o'er  each  stonej  breast. 

CLXIX, 

Apart,  the  guards  of  Cymri  stand  around 
The  haught  repose  of  captive  Teuton  kings ; 

With  eyes  disdainful  of  the  chains  that  bound, 
And  fronts  superb — as  if  defeat  but  flings 

A  kinglier  grandeur  over  fallen  power : — 

So  suns  shine  larger  in  their  setting  hour. 

CLXX, 

From  these  remote,  unchained,  unguarded,  leant 
On  the  gnarl'd  pillar  of  the  fort  of  pine, 

The  Saturn  of  the  Titan  armament. 

His  looks  averted  from  the  altered  shrine 

Whence  iron  Doom  the  Antique  Faith  has  hurl'd, 

For  that  new  Jove  who  dawns  upon  the  world ! 

CLXXI. 

And  one  broad  hand  conceal'd  the  monarch's  face ; 

And  one  lay  calm  on  the  low-bended  head 
Of  the  forgiving  child,  whose  young  embrace 

Clasp'd  that  gray  wreck  of  Empire !     All  had  fled 
The  heart  of  pride  : — Thrones,  hosts,  the  gods  !  yea  all 
That  scaled  the  heaven,  strew'd  Hades  with  their  fall ! 


228  KING    ARTHUR. 

CLXXII. 

But  Natural  Love,  the  household  melody 

Steals  thro'  the  dearth, — resettling  on  the  breast; 

The  bird  returning  with  the  silenced  sky, 
Sings  in  the  ruin,  and  rebuilds  its  nest. 

Home  came  the  Soother  that  the  storm  exiled, — 

And  Crida's  hand  lay  calm  upon  his  child ! 

CLXXIII. 

Beside  her  sister  saint,  Genevra  kneeleth. 

Mourning  her  father's  in  her  Country's  woes ; 

And  near  her,  hushing  iron  footsteps,  stealeth 

The  noblest  knight  the  wondrous  Table  knows — 

Whispering  low  comfort  into  thrilling  ears — 

When  Harold's  plume  floats  up  the  flash  of  spears. 

CLXXIV. 

But  the  proud  Earl,  with  warning  hand  and  eye, 
Repells  the  yearning  arms,  the  eager  start ; 

Man  amidst  men,  his  haughty  thoughts  deny 
To  foes  the  triumph  o'er  his  father's  heart; 

Quickly  he  turn'd — where  shone  amidst  his  ring 

Of  subject  planets,  the  Hyperion  Kinj 


^S- 


CLXXV. 

There  Tristan  graceful — Agrafayn  uncouth ; 

And  Owaine  comely  with  the  battle-scar, 
And  Geraint's  lofty  age,  to  venturous  youth 

Glory  and  guide,  as  to  proud  ships  a  star ; 
And  Gawaine,  sobered  to  his  gravest  smile. 
Lean  on  the  spears  that  lighten  through  the  pile. 


BOOK  XII.  229 

CLXXVI. 

There  stood  the  stoic  Alemen  sedate, 

Blocks  hewn  from  man,  which  love  with  life  inspired ; 
There,  by  the  Cross,  from  eyes  serene  with  Fate, 

Look'cl  into  space  the  Mage !  and  carnage-tired. 
On  -^gis  shields,  like  Jove's  still'd  thunders,  lay 
Thine  ocean  giants,  Scandinavia ! 

CLXXVII. 

But  lo,  the  front,  where  conquest's  auriole 
Shone,  as  round  Genius  marching  at  the  van 

Of  nations ; — where  the  victories  of  the  soul 
Stamped  Nature's  masterpiece,  perfected  Man : 

Fair  as  young  Honour's  vision  of  a  king 

Fit  for  bold  hearts  to  serve,  free  lips  to  sing ! 

CLXXVIII. 

So  stood  the  Christian  Prince  in  Odin's  hall. 
Gathering  in  one.  Renown's  converging  rays; 

But,  in  the  hour  of  triumph,  turn,  from  all 
War's  victor  pomp,  the  memory  and  the  gaze ; 

Miss  that  last  boon  the  mission  should  achieve. 

And  rest  where  droops  the  dove-like  Genevieve. 

CLXXIX. 

Now  at  the  sight  of  Mercia's  haughty  lord, 
A  loftier  grandeur  calms  yet  more  his  brow ; 

And  leaning  lightly  on  his  sheathless  sword. 

Listening  he  stood,  while  spoke  the  Earl : — "  I  bow 

Not  to  war's  fortune,  but  the  victor's  fame ; 

Thine  is  so  large,  it  shields  thy  foes  from  shame. 


230  KING    ARTHUR. 

CLXXX. 

^'  Prepared  for  battle,  proffering  peace  I  come, 

On  yonder  hills  eno'  of  Saxon  steel 
Remains,  to  match  the  Cj^mrian  Christendom ; 

Not  slaves  with  masters,  men  with  men  would  deal. 
We  cannot  leave  j-our  land,  our  chiefs  in  gyves, — 
While  chains  irall  Saxons,  Saxon  war  survives. 

CLXXXI. 

^'  Our  kings,  our  women,  and  our  priests  release. 
And  in  their  name  I  pledge  (no  mean  return) 

A  ransom  worthy  of  both  nations — Peace ; 

Peace  with  the  Teuton !     On  jowy  hills  shall  burn 

No  more  the  beacon ;  on  j'our  fields,  no  more 

The  steed  of  Hengist  plunge  its  hoofs  in  gore, 

CLXXXII. 

*^  Peace  while  this  race  remains — (our  sons,  alas. 
We  cannot  bind  !)   Peace  with  the  Mercian  men : 

This  is  the  ransom.     Take  it,  and  we  pass 
Friends  from  a  foeman's  soil ;  reject  it, — then 

Firm  to  this  land  we  cling,  as  if  our  own. 

Till  the  last  Saxon  falls,  or  Cymri's  throne  1" 

CLXXXVIII, 

Abrupt  upon  the  audience  dies  the  voice. 

And  varying  passions  stir  the  murmurous  groupes ; 

Here,  to  the  wiser  ;  there,  the  haughtier  choice  : 
Youth  rears  its  crest ;  but  age  foreboding  droops ; 

Chiefs  yearn  for  fame ;  the  crowds  to  safety  cling ; 

The  murmurs  hush,  and  thus  replies  the  King : — 


BOOK    XII.  231 

CLXXXIV. 

^'  Foe,  thy  proud  speech  offends  no  manly  ear. 

So  would  I  speak,  could  our  conditions  change. 
Peace  gives  no  shame,  where  war  has  brought  no  fear ; 

We  fought  for  freedom, — we  disdain  revenge ; 
The  freedom  won,  no  cause  for  war  remains, 
And  loyal  Honour  binds  more  fast  than  chains. 

CLXXXV. 

"  The  Peace  thus  proffered,  with  accustomed  rites, 
Hostage  and  oath,  confirm,  ye  Teuton  kings, 

And  ye  are  free !  Where  we,  the  Christians,  fight, 
Our  Valkyrs  sail  with  healing  on  their  wings ; 

We  shed  no  blood  but  for  our  fatherland ! — 

And  so,  frank  soldier,  take  this  soldier's  hand !" 

CLXXXVI. 

Low  o'er  that  conquering  hand,  the  high-soul'd  foe 
Bow'd  the  war  plumed  upon  his  raven  crest ; 

Caught  from  those  kingly  words,  one  generous  glow 
Chased  Hate's  last  twilight  from  each  Cymrian  breast; 

Humbled,  the  captives  hear  the  fetters  fall. 

Power's  tranquil  shadow — Mercy,  awes  them  all ! 

CLXXXVII. 

Dark  scowl  the  Priests; — with  vengeance  Priestcraft 
dies ! 

Slow  looks,  where  Pride  yet  struggles,  Crida  rears ; 
On  Crida's  child  rest  Arthur's  soft'ning  eyes ; 

And  Crida's  child  is  weeping  happy  tears ; 
And  Lancelot,  closer  at  Genevra's  side. 
Pales  at  the  compact  that  may  lose  the  bride. 


232  KING    ARTHUR. 


CLXXXVIII. 


When  from  tlie  altar  by  the  holy  rood, 

Come  the  deep  accents  of  the  Cjanrian  Mage, 

Sublimely  bending  o'er  the  multitude 

Thought's  Atlas  temples  crown'd  with  Titan  age, 

O'er  Druid  robes  the  beard's  broad  silver  streams, 

As  when  the  vision  rose  on  virgin  dreams. 

CLXXXIX. 

''  Hearken,  ye  Scythia's  and  Cimmeria's  sons, 
Whose  sires  alike  by  golden  rivers  dwelt. 

When  sate  the  Asas  on  their  hunter  thrones ; 
When  Orient  vales  rejoiced  the  shepherd  Celt ; 

While  Eve's  young  races  towards  each  other  drawn, 

Roved  lingering  round  the  Eden  gates  of  dawn. 

cxc. 

*^  Still  the  old  brother-bond  in  these  new  homes. 
After  long  woes,  shall  bind  your  kindred  races ; 

Here,  the  same  God  shall  find  the  sacred  domes ; 
And  the  same  land-marks  bound  your  resting-j)laces. 

What  time,  o'er  realms  to  Heus  and  Tlior  unknown, 

Both  Celt  and  Saxon  rear  their  common  throne. 

cxci. 

''  Meanwhile,  revere  the  Word  the  viewless  Hand 
Writes  on  the  leaves  of  kingdom-dooming  stars ; 

Thro'  Prydain's  Isle  of  Pines,  from  sea  to  land. 
Where  yet  Rome's  eagle  leaves  the  thunder  scars, 

The  sceptre-sword  of  Saxon  kings  shall  reach, 

And  new-born  nations  speak  the  Teuton's  speech. 


BOOK   XII.  233 

CXCII. 

"All  save  thy  mountain  empire,  Dragon  king! 

All  save  the  Cymrian  Ararat^ — ^Yild  Wales  !* 
Here  Cymrian  bards  to  fame  and  God  shall  sing — 

Here  Cymrian  freemen  breathe  the  hardy  gales. 
And  the  same  race  that  Heus  the  Guardian  led, 
Rise  from  these  graves — when  God  awakes  the  dead !" 

CXCIII. 

The  Prophet  paused,  and  all  that  pomp  of  plumes 
Bowed  as  the  harvest  which  the  south  wind  heaves, 

When,  while  the  breeze  disturbs,  the  beam  illumes, 
And  blessings  gladden  in  the  trembling  sheaves. 

He  paused,  and  thus  renewed  :  "  Thrice  happy,  ye 

Founders  of  shrines  and  sires  of  kings  to  be ! 


CXCIV. 

"  Hear,  Harold,  t3'23e  of  the  strong  Saxon  soul, 

Supple  to  truth,  untameable  by  force. 
Thy  dauntless  blood  thro'  GAvjmedd's  chiefs  shall  roll,f 

Thro'  Scotland's  monarchs  take  its  fiery  course, 
And  How  with  Arthur's,  in  the  later  days, 
Thro'  Ocean-Coesars,  either  zone  obeys. 

*  "  Their  Lord  they  shall  praise, 

And  their  language  they  shall  preserve  ; 
Their  land  they  shall  lose, 

Except  Wild  Wales!" — Puophect  of  Taliessix. 

■f  This  prediction  refers  to  the  marriage  of  the  daughter  of  Griffith  ap  Llewellyn 
(Prince  of  Gwynedd,  or  North  Wales,  whose  name  and  fate  are  not  unfamiliar  to 
those  who  have  read  the  romance  of  "Harold,  the  Last  of  the  Saxon  Kings")  with 
Fleance.  From  that  marriage  descended  the  Stuarts,  and  mdeed  the  reigtnng  family 
of  Great  Britain. 


234  KING    AETHUR. 

cxcv. 
"  Man  of  the  manly  heart,  reward  the  foe 

Who  braved  thy  sword,  and  yet  forebore  thy  breast, 
Who  loved  thy  child,  yet  could  the  love  forego 

And  give  the  sire ; — thy  looks  supply  the  rest, 
I  read  thine  answer  in  thy  generous  glance ! 
Stand  forth- — bold  child  of  Christian  Chevisaunce  !" 

CXCVI. 

Then  might  ye  see  a  sight  for  smiles  and  tears. 
Young  Lancelot's  hand  in  Harold's  cordial  grasp, 

While  from  his  breast  the  frank-eyed  father  rears 
The  cheek  that  glows  beneath  the  arms  that  clasp ; 

'^  Shrink'st  thou,"  he  said,  "  from  bonds  by  fate  reveal'd  ? 

Go — rock  my  grandson  in  the  Cymrian's  shield !" 

CXCVII. 

"  And  ye,"  the  solemn  voice  resumed,  "  0  kings  ! 

Hearken,  Pendragon,  son  of  Odin  hear ! 
There  is  a  mystery  in  the  heart  of  things. 

Which  Truth  and  Falsehood,  seek  alike  with  fear, 
To  Truth  from  Heaven,  to  Falsehood  breathed  from  hell. 
Comes  yet  to  both  the  unquiet  oracle. 

CXCVIII. 

"  Not  vainly,  Crida,  priest,  and  rune,  and  dream, 
Warned  thee  of  fates  commingling  into  one 

The  silver  river  and  the  mountain  stream ; 
From  Odin's  daughter  and  Pendragon's  son, 

Shall  rise  those  kings  that  in  remotest  years 

Shall  grasp  the  birthright  of  the  Saxon  spears. 


BOOK  XII.  235 

CXCIX. 

"  The  bright  decree  that  seem'd  a  curse  to  Fate, 
Blesses  both  races  when  fulfilFd  by  love ; 

Saxon,  from  Arthur  shall  thy  lineage  date, 
Thine  eagles,  Arthur,  from  thy  Saxon  dove. 

The  link  of  peace  let  nuptial  garlands  weave, 

And  Cymri's  queen  be  Saxon  Genevieve !" 

CC. 

Perplexed,  reluctant  with  the  pangs  of  pride. 
And  shadowy  doubts  from  dark  religion  thrown, 

Stern  Crida  lingering  turned  his  face  aside ; 
Then  rise  the  elders  from  the  idol  stone ; 

From  fallen  chains  the  kindred  Teutons  spring. 

Low  murmurs  rustle  round  the  moody  king ; 

cci. 
On  priest  and  warrior,  while  they  w^hisper,  dwells 

The  searching  light  of  that  imperious  eye ; 
Warrior  and  priest,  the  prophet  word  compels ; 

And  overmasters  like  a  destiny — 
When  towards  the  maid  the  radiant  conqueror  drew, 
And  said,  "  Enslaver,  it  is  mine  to  sue !" 

ecu. 

To  Crida,  then,  "  Proud  chief,  I  do  confess 
The  loftier  attribute  't  is  thine  to  boast. 

The  pride  of  kings  is  in  the  power  to  bless. 

The  kingliest  hand  is  that  which  gives  the  most ; 

Priceless  the  gift  I  ask  thee  to  bestow, — 

But  doubly  royal  is  a  generous  foe !" 


236  KING    ARTHUR. 

CCIII. 

Then  forth — subdued,  yet  stately,  Crida  came, 
And  the  last  hold  in  that  rude  heart  was  won  : 

"  Hero,  thy  conquest  makes  no  more  my  shame, 
He  shares  thy  glory  who  can  call  thee  '  Son  !' 

So  may  this  love-knot  bind  and  bless  the  lands !" 

Faltering  he  spoke — and  joined  the  plighted  hands. 

cciv. 
There  flock  the  hosts  as  to  a  holy  ground. 

.There  where  the  dove  at  last  may  fold  the  wing ! 
His  mission  ended,  and  his  labours  crown'd, 

Fair  as  in  fable  stands  the  Dragon  King — 
Below  the  Cross,  and  by  his  prophet's  side. 
With  Carduel's  knighthood  kneeling  round  his  bride. 

ccv. 
What  gallant  deeds  in  gentle  lists  were  done, 

What  lutes  made  joyaunce  sweet  in  jasmine  bowers. 
Let  others  tell : — Slow  sets  the  summer  sun ; 

Slow  fall  the  mists,  and  closing,  droop  the  flowers; 
Faint  in  the  gloaming  dies  the  vesper  bell, — 
And  Dream-land  sleeps  round  golden  Carduel. 


THE  END. 


.  Iwtl 


11 


